Falling
by MorningSnow03
Summary: Five years on the run from the victorious Dark Lord is long enough. Hermione has returned to join the resistance against his reign. She finds that an unexpected ally can be found in Draco Malfoy, but is he really what he says or are there more to his plans than just revenge?
1. Chapter 1

He was late.

Of _course_ he was late.

That ruddy bastard had been making her wait every time they met somewhere, ever since she had known him. It didn't matter that they hadn't seen each other in more than two years, he still was late. She sipped her beer in the quiet of the Muggle pub.

The door opened to bathe the cosy interior of the pub with icy wind which made all of the silly Halloween decorations on the ceiling and candles and even the fireplace swirl in response.

Hermione looked up expectantly, but it was just some old man with bright pink ear muffs. The old man started stomping his feet on the mat and Hermione thought of her grandfather absently.

The old man by the door resembled no one Hermione had ever known, but he had the _presence_ of a man who smelled like her grandfather. That weird old man smell mixed with strange cologne and secret tobacco smoke. Maybe it was just his age. Maybe Hermione had just been away from her family for too long.

She sighed and rested her chin in her palm, staring off into the hundreds of reflections on the old bottles behind the bar.

Her mind wandered again to Hogwarts as it had been, a Halloween night not so long ago. Since the last end of term feast she ate in the Great Hall, not so long ago. She hadn't been back since she had been on the run. It had been five years already, she realized. Five hard, long years.

Five years ago, Hogwarts had been destroyed.

Four years ago, she had tried out the world across the ocean.

Three years ago, Hermione had finally began working her way back to Britain after finding out just how bad it had gotten.

Last year she had arrived in secret.

This year, she heard there was another revolution starting.

Tonight, she was going to join the surviving Order members.

Tomorrow, she would begin to orchestrate the fall of _Him_.

So next year, she could begin fixing her world.

The door opened again. Hermione glumly looked over to see that he was finally there. Ronald Billius Weasley stood in an ordinary looking leather jacket and a stupid hat that had earwarmers pulled up, despite the cold outside. She frowned at him and he smiled at her sheepishly as he crossed the room to sit next to her at the bar.

"Hey," He said, cleverly.

She took a deep breath and said, "Hey back, you git," in a sigh.

He gave her that old lopsided grin that used to turn her stomach to butterflies. She was surprised to find that it merely turned her stomach, now. "Got a safe way to travel, just outside whenever you're ready." He said.

She took another sip of beer from the pint she had ordered when he was 10 minutes late. "Are you going to even bother with safewords?" She asked after a moment.

"Nah, I can tell you're my girl from a mile off," He said, slinging his arm around her shoulders, and covering her in the smells of home. Grass and parchment and spearmint toothpaste infiltrating her carefully built up walls.

"Tell me the safeword, please," She said mournfully, ignoring the sob she needed to stifle before she finished the command.

"Blueberry pancakes," He said looking down at her with a concerned frown. "You ok, Hermione? I mean, you look awfully upset."

She sighed in relief at his safeword and told him, "I'm fine. I _will_ be fine. Empire State. Now can we please go?" She put down a few pounds for her beer and stood to wrap her scarf more tightly around her throat.

"There's... there's probably something I ought to tell you before we go." Ron said.

Hermione sighed and sat back down, looking at Ron expectantly.

"Well, uh... we have... we have a spy who lives in the safe house where you'll be going. Well, I mean... it's his house." Hermione furrowed her brow. "I uh... I tried so hard for you, Hermione, I really did." He was wringing his hands and tapping his foot. Hermione did not like the look of this. Ron was afraid of her anger. Why would he be so anxious? Who was so bad...

"I mean I tried to get you somewhere else. Tried everything I could. But it's the safest place for you, everyone says. None of the bad guys know about it... I even told them I would marry you so-"

Hermione started laughing, interrupting him. "Oh, come on, Ron, this can not be so bad you would stoop so low as to marry me, would it?"

Ron's face darkened, having perceived she was insulting him. "Well, then. I suppose you don't appreciate how hard I worked for you to be safe! Blimey, Hermione, you can be so rude sometimes."

She sobered at his reaction. "I'm sorry Ron, I just thought you were trying to be funny. You mean that I'll have to be living with someone? Who is it? You seem pretty anxious to tell me."

He bit his lip and finally blurted out, "It's Malfoy."

Hermione was later surprised by her lack of reaction. She said, "Ok. You do mean Draco Malfoy, don't you?"

Ron was anxiously looking at her face as though expecting her to explode in a fit of rage or something. "Yes," He said cautiously.

"Well, he's better than his father at least. Shall we?"

Ron was perplexed, but rationalized that Hermione likely was planning on taking out all of her rage where it belonged, with Malfoy. He nodded and led her outside to transport her to the Malfoy's chateau outside of Suffolk.

The night was silent and she could barely see by the scant moonlight in the middle of this quaint secluded country road. She whispered into the dark toward the arm she was still holding, "Ronald? Is this the place?"

"Yep. Try not to use magic, they've got a trace on our wands now. Did you know?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course I know that. You think I went off to live as a Muggle for research purposes?"

He snorted at her snark, "Sorry, 'Mione. Just… I don't know what to say to you. Come on, we've got to walk for a minute. Up the lane a bit."

Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light now. Trees dotted the roadside near a low stone wall which ran along the lane they were walking upon. It was quite cold out, but the air was still and no snow from the freak early season snowfall had fallen yet in this secret area of the world. She walked in silence for a moment, and then finally asked, "So will you fill me in on what's been happening?"

"Not in the open I won't. Never know who might hear."

 _Paranoia_ flashed through her mind. With a big red _Justified_ flashing right afterward. The little hairs on her neck stood up as she realized they were being watched. "Are there sentries?" She breathed into his shoulder, hoping to mask that her words floated on her visible breath.

He made an affirmative noise but didn't say anything more. After a few more tense moments, they came to a gate which creaked pleasantly when Ron opened it. Beyond was a nice little garden and a squat little cottage with its door partly hidden beneath a sheaf of overhanging flowers. Hermione smiled at the picturesque scene that looked like it belonged on a puzzle or card with 'Get Well Soon' written in lovely calligraphy inside.

She realized it all looked strange after a brief moment. Then Hermione realized it was a very powerful illusion charm. The flowers ought not be blooming in this frosty evening and it was all slightly too bright.

Ron said a password and the whole building yawned and stretched out of the ground. The flowers dissolved into stone eaves and the plaster walls smoothed to a marble-like stone. The single pane of glass near the door split and spread and other windows appeared in the smooth finish. The door itself widened and thickened and a large ornate knocker appeared. The small cottage that had looked like it might be just one main room, maybe with a small bedroom attached, now looked like a three story Chateau, a huge expanse of castle-like elegance. Before Hermione could really get a good look, though, Ron was ushering her to the door.

Ron knocked thrice upon the door and it was opened a mere moment later. Hermione was not prepared to see the handsome blond wearing a dark blue turtleneck and some black trousers lit from behind in a becoming golden glow. "Finally. Get in before someone sees." He hissed.

They were ushered inside and Malfoy snapped his fingers. A small elf popped up next to the fireplace just inside the door wearing a loose dress and bow on her head next to large floppy ears. "Floppy, get their coats. Then set a tea service in my sitting room and don't forget to prepare a guest room."

The little elf nodded and Hermione and Ron took their coats and hats off, handing them gingerly to the little elf. Hermione resisted asking if the elf wanted any help, knowing the elf would only take that as an insult. When the elf popped out of sight, Malfoy gestured for them to follow him.

Ron and Hermione shared a look of incredulousness when Malfoy's back was turned.

"Granger," Draco said, gesturing to a chair near the fire with a small pillow on it. "Weasel," He said, pointing to another chair, looking less comfortable and further from the fire. Draco sat on the chair which he had apparently been sitting in before they came and took a sip of what appeared to be firewhiskey.

Hermione sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair and was glad for the warmth of the fire. She had lost several pounds while on the run and she seemed to always be cold these days. "Thank you for uh… seeing us. How have you been faring?" Hermione asked, her manners rusty but still there.

A glint of amusement shone through Malfoy's facade. "Very well, Granger. I've risen high within the Dark Lord's ranks and now sit atop an empire with only a few above me."

Hermione fought the wince at his subtle reminder that he was a Death Eater, sworn to the service of _him_ and betraying that vow by agreeing to shelter her. The tea service appeared on a table between the three chairs and Malfoy gestured for them to have some.

Old habit had Hermione smelling the tea and looking at it for a moment before drinking it, looking for the particular sheen of veritaserum and smelling for a number of poisons. Ron took a drink immediately and grabbed a cucumber sandwich. When she focused on Malfoy again, he was watching her with an appraising gaze. "Would you mind telling me how long you've been a double agent? I mean… after Harry…" Hermione's voice broke and she cleared her throat. "After Harry, I had to go into hiding so I'm not exactly caught up," She said hesitantly, glancing toward Ron in her nervousness.

Draco crossed his legs and sat back in his chair a bit more. "May I have your safeword before we continue? The Weasel told me what it was before I agreed to house you."

She nodded in understanding. "Empire State."

"Just to humor me, can you tell me what I said when we ran into each other at the first open Death Eater attack after the Quidditch World Cup?"

Hermione tried not to be annoyed. He was running a double life and so his paranoia would definitely be second nature. But why ask about _that_ particular memory? "You told Harry and Ron to get me away or else it would be… that I would be in danger." She answered, blushing.

Malfoy smirked at her blush, it confirmed for him that she was indeed Hermione Granger.

"Oi, I told you she only needed to tell you her safeword, didn't I?" Ron said with sandwich in his mouth.

Hermione sighed, "Ron don't speak with your mouth full."

"Sorry," He said sheepishly, then finished his bite. "You don't need to be embarrassing her for-"

"I'm not embarrassing her," Draco responded mildly. "I do actually have people who would kill me if this information came to light, Weasel."

"And additionally, I'm not embarrassed, Ron."

Ron put his hands up in defeat, "Alright alright. Sorry. Read too much into it. Carry on."

"Now then, I'll give you the short version, shall I? My father's failure during the Department of Mysteries prompted The Dark Lord to raise me to the status of a Death Eater as you know. Several years of dedicated manipulations of the zealots in the inner circle and with the aid of Professor Snape, I rose to a higher standing than a mere Death Eater. During this time, I failed at a particular mission. I had been assigned the task of assassinating Dumbledore and… suffice to say I couldn't do it. Rather than forcing me to suffer after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord chose… a surrogate for my pain. Likely it was only because he was weakened after the battle."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Who? Not your parents?"

Draco shook his head, trying not to be influenced by her compassion for him. "The woman I was meant to marry. Astoria Greengrass."

"She… is she..?" Hermione stuttered.

"She's dead." Draco confirmed, gazing a moment into the fire with sadness hidden in his eyes. He took a sip of his drink. "She had been _his_ prisoner for more than a year. From Dumbledore's death until shortly after the battle of Hogwarts… Anyway, that was when I went to the Light side by utilizing some of my contacts and offered to bring supplies and information to them in hopes of defeating… Him."

Their eyes met and Hermione couldn't name the emotion swirling in the depths of his silver gaze. "And how will we explain my being here?"

"We won't have to. None of the Dark knows this house exists. My parents have been…" He cleared his throat. "My parents have been Kissed for having failed Him. Many of the higher ranking Death Eaters have secret homes which no one speaks about openly. In case something goes wrong." He snorted and made a face into his glass, "Or right, depending on your perspective."

Hermione thought for a moment, digesting all this information. "But I'll be safe here? And I'll be able to conduct the research I've agreed to take on?"

"Yes. Though I don't know what the research is." When she moved to speak, Draco held up a hand, "I don't want to know, Granger. Safer that way."

"Not to mention easier to pretend she doesn't exist, right?" Ron said with a roll of his eyes. Draco's expression didn't change, but he put his fingers together below his chin and stared at Ron. After a minute passed, Ron finally blurted, "The goal here is to take him down right?" Ron said. "You know. _Him_."

"I'm not trying to protect him, if that's what you're insinuating. I'd kill him myself if given the chance," Draco snarled. "But you know that to do that _she_ needs to figure out this mess. Circe knows your lot has failed enough times. Maybe the secret lies within her, maybe it doesn't. The concern here is if I know something, I may think of it in the wrong moment and be found out. I know it's difficult, but perhaps we might _try_ to think logically?"

Ron's face turned red. "I didn't think of it like that, but you really need to stop calling me stupid, ferret, or you might just find out how smart I am."

"Really," Hermione interrupted. "Can we stop the childish bickering? You're both stupid. Malfoy, can you treat me like a human being or do I need to avoid you?"

Draco smirked, oddly pleased by her exasperation. "The first one, surely Granger. Though I won't be here but once or twice a week. Otherwise it will only be you and Floppy. Only the Weasel knows the precise location in the Order, and he has his own safeguards to keep that information secret, do you not, ginger?"

Ron rolled his eyes, "Yes. If I say the location I'll drop dead, I know I know."

"And Ron do we have a way set up to communicate with the rest of the Order while I research?"

"Yes."

"Then everything else is secondary. Malfoy and I will only have to deal with one another for a short time. In such a large house, if we have problems, avoidance can be the best solution. Do you agree Malfoy?"

"Of course I do." He nodded and set his glass on the nearby table. Then he continued, "But no matter our quarrels, Harry Potter must be stopped."

Hermione sat back in her chair finally. "Good. Then I'll get started tomorrow."

A/N: yay I'm posting another story. I've started this and have no idea where it's going. Thanks for reading, I have a few chapters written, so look for those weekly if you like.


	2. Chapter 2

They laid out a very basic framework of visitations and communication with the Order over the next half hour. Only Ron would be allowed actually into the Chateau but Hermione would be going to a meeting with the Order in a week. Not a large meeting, she was assured. The majority of the Order was in hiding and/or working within the system to keep up appearances, Hermione was informed. Neville, for example, had used his Pureblood pedigree to find work in the massive greenhouses used for major potion making companies now under the direction of the Death Eaters. He'd had to do a lot of cajoling to convince the Dark Lord that he was truly 'reformed' to the Death Eater cause and his influence was still moot. Most Witches and Wizards who were at least Half-Blood could work within the new power structure.

She also was told briefly that every single wand in Wizarding Britain was monitored through one office in the 'Ministry'. Only the most trusted Dark and Pureblooded Wizards were allowed to even know where the office was. Draco waved off her interest in the matter by telling her they could discuss it at a later date.

Once the communication and meetings were set up, Ron made his excuses to get back to his own home before someone missed him.

"Wait, who would miss you?" Hermione had blurted at this point. A dark look passed over Ron's face and she immediately apologized, "I'm sorry Ron, That came out wrong. I meant who do you live with?"

"Still with my family but they don't know yet that you've been picked up," Ron answered stiffly. "All of this was very… what's that word? Clandestine? Secretive anyway. The extra eyes were last minute and everything." He stood to leave and Hermione stood as well, trying to be graceful despite the pain movement caused her. "I'll be back on Saturday like we planned. Let me know if you need anything I might be able to bring."

After Hermione nodded, Ron glanced at Malfoy, then showed himself out.

"Charming as always," Draco had muttered. Draco asked to show her to her room immediately after Ron left. The house was large, but not too confusingly spread out.

Malfoy was brief in his descriptions and assumed she would figure most of it out on her own anyway. He wasn't meant for this droll tour guide ridiculousness. He figured making sure she wasn't attached to him in any way would make this awkwardness end more quickly.

The sitting room and dining hall were on the first floor, along with 'some casual rooms' in Malfoy speak. The second floor was mostly devoted to academic pursuits, as the entire floor was filled with bookshelf after bookshelf. Whole rooms were divided by subject and the landing next to the stairs even had a bloody directory, if Hermione wasn't mistaken in her quick assessment.

He barely paused between floors and Hermione certainly wished he had. She was winded by the time they reached the third floor and desperately trying to hide her pain. "This floor has all of the bedrooms, Granger. Likely by the time the week is up, your strength will begin to return," He added dryly.

Ignoring the jab at her, she asked, "How am I to know which room is mine?"

"The west wing is devoted to family, so please do not enter it. The east wing, on the other hand," He gestured to their left, "Is for guests. I've had Floppy prepare the first door to the left. Left side of the landing, left door. Easy enough, since you're left handed."

Hermione froze. "That's… odd. Why would you have noticed that?"

"I notice everything, Granger. Come along, I haven't time to dawdle."

She snorted, "You sounded just like your father just then. You know that?"

He smirked and opened the door.

Beyond lay a set of rooms big enough to be considered an apartment. There was a private sitting room, a small table with chairs if the occupant wanted to dine within, an open door showed a large bed with a flowy canopy inside of it. The color scheme was brown and cream with accents of a lovely pale purple dotted around. There were even fresh lilacs atop the table. "Oh, Floppy made the room look wonderful. I must remember to thank her."

"Yes. Now before you start off on your elf rights ridiculousness-"

"It's not ridi-"

"It is! Now listen!" Draco's eyes were furious instantly and Hermione tried not to flinch away from the heat of his anger. "She's not free, Granger. And she never will be. She's perfectly happy here and wholly devoted to me. Don't you even _think_ of trying to give her clothes."

"Of course I wouldn't-"

"Yes you would. She's a sweet little thing and you'll adore her instantly if half of the SPEW nonsense is to be believed. I've only ever treated her gently and I need her to remain my property."

"First of all its S.P.E.W. Second, what about-"

"Granger!" He hissed. "Leave it."

His glare and fury held her tongue from continuing. She wasn't afraid of him, to be sure. However his incredible possessiveness of the elf sparked a curiosity in her which his current state would not allow her to satisfy. "Fine," She growled, her curiosity didn't overshadow her indignation at being spoken to in such a way. _What a jerk,_ she thought. After a moment, she said stiffly, "Thank you for showing me to my room." While trying to find a balance between her anger and ingrained politeness. She wanted him to leave so she could stop feigning she was alright. She wasn't. Not by any means.

He took the hint, nodded curtly, and said, "I'm sure you would like to rest. I'll not be here again until Thursday. Floppy will attend you in the meantime. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Malfoy. And… and thanks for… this." She answered quietly.

"You're welcome." He answered, looking into her face for a moment as though trying to figure something out. He clicked the door shut behind him.

Hermione looked around the room nervously. She'd been fine while hiding her nerves and pain from Ron and Malfoy. It was easy enough to shove the anxiety to the side when there were others around, but now that she was alone and exhausted from fighting herself, it rose up, eager to take her over. She sat down in the middle of the floor and closed her eyes. Focused on her breathing like that stupid muggle doctor had told her, ignored the jab of pain from a likely cracked rib, and stayed like that for a few minutes. Her heart rate was lower, thankfully. No panic attack this time.

When she opened her eyes, she half expected to find herself back in Muggle London, her senses honed to detect even a slight bit of magic around her. She stood up in this lush room instead.

It both felt like home and utterly terrifying to be around so much magic so soon after avoiding it over the last few years. "Come on, Hermione. You'll be fine. This place is meant to be safe. Stop worrying so much," She whispered to herself. She brushed a hand along the rib and felt the swelling already present with a wince. "Great." It wasn't her first broken bone since running away after the Battle of Hogwarts. She could handle it for another minute or two.

She made herself explore the apartment. A bookcase stood mostly empty, apparently ready to be filled with her own books. Well, she hadn't any of those anymore, she reflected bitterly as she turned toward the bedroom. She'd come with nothing but her wand, which was strapped to her thigh under her jeans. Her arm stayed bent near her ribs and she had started to limp slightly without having really noticed it. She was pushing her pain away from her consciousness so she could ascertain her safety.

When she saw the bed, she smiled slightly. Her bed in London had been small and hard with an annoying lump where her ribs lay when she was on her side. This bed looked like it hadn't the time for any such lumps. _This_ bed looked like a bed for a princess in Muggle fairytales.

She glanced in the closet, expecting it to be empty and was shocked to see many sets of robes. She looked at the label of the closest one, tried to remember enough French to understand the size and gave it up. _Maybe they belonged to Draco's mother or something. Ew wait to_ _ **Malfoy's**_ _mother I mean. Gross._

She noticed the bathroom when she stepped back from the closet and wandered over there.

This giant tub filled with colored bubbles and swirling smells of heaven was not meant for her, surely. The clothes and then an already drawn bath? Surely there was another woman staying here or something.

Hermione bit her lip. Would she… "Floppy?" She called.

The crack of the elf made Hermione jump. "How can Floppy help Miss?"

"Hi, uh. Look, am I in the right room?"

"Yes Miss." Floppy looked mildly apprehensive.

"Did you draw a bath for me?"

"Yes Miss. Master Draco asked Floppy to prepare the room to fit Miss. Is you not wanting a bath Miss? Floppy can-"

"No, Floppy. A bath sounds fine. Everything is really lovely, really... it's just… I'm not used to having an elf around, sorry. And um… do you know why there are clothes in the closet?"

Floppy's large eyes blinked twice in confusion. "Because Master asked Floppy to prepare the room to fit Miss." She repeated, slowly as though Hermione should have understood this already. "Master said Miss was coming with nothing," She clapped her hands to her ears and pulled them in agitation, "Floppy is sorry Miss, mean no insult. Floppy meant… Floppy was… was asked to purchase appropriate clothing for Miss."

Hermione sat at the chair under the vanity. ' _I notice everything'_ he had said.

"Is Miss alright?" Floppy asked anxiously.

"Yes just… overwhelmed at your Master's generosity… is there… Floppy can I ask you to do some things for me, please?"

"Of course Miss, Floppy is to wait on you!" Floppy answered estatically and her face lit up in an instant brilliant relieved smile.

Hermione smiled at the little elf. Draco was right, she was already quite taken with her. "Can you pull out some pajamas for me? And can you find me some pain potion and Dittany?"

"Is Miss injured?" Floppy asked, obviously worried and quickly looking Hermione over as though to find out where she was hurt.

"Yes, but I've got it bandaged right now."

"Floppy will help Miss, if she will allow it."

Hermione smiled. "Alright. I would appreciate it. Can you also find me something to eat? I've… well I haven't eaten much in a few days so…"

"Oh, Miss. You shouldn't go without eating!"

Hermione snorted a laugh. "I know that Floppy. It wasn't by choice that I went without food. But something light, ok? I don't want to get sick."

Floppy nodded again. She cracked out of the room and Hermione began shrugging out of her sweater. Her undershirt had dots of blood over her back, Hermione saw in the mirror. It had bled through the bandage.

 _Great._

The little elf returned and assisted Hermione through first healing her rib, then cleaning and healing the path the bullet had carved. _Thank God he missed._ She reflected. _Well, mostly missed anyway._ She would probably have a four or five inch scar across her shoulder blade, but what was that compared to the rest of them? Nothing. Floppy insisted on also healing the knife wound on her forearm that Hermione had used to drain enough- _please God let it have been enough-_ blood for Scotland Yard or London Metro Police or whoever would investigate to declare the burned body she'd left behind as her. Maybe… hopefully it would be enough.

 _That idiot with the gun had better be blamed for my fake death._ She thought bitterly once Floppy had gathered the medicine and left Hermione to her bathing. Maybe he would have drawn enough attention with the gun, maybe not. If he had, the gun residue would still be on his hands, so he would probably look like a good enough suspect to the police. She could hope. And who in their right mind would even have a gun in London in the first place? Hermione had probably done the world a favor if that nutter had been caught.

She lowered herself into the tub gingerly. Her fall down those stairs had really done a number on her. She would probably need something for the bruises that would start to show tomorrow. At least shed gotten the rib healed. The warm suds over her tired and sore- and so skinny- body was so soothing she nearly cried. It had been so long since she'd had the comfort of a bath. Ordinarily, she would have only the comfort of a lukewarm shower with moldy tiles surrounding her and the drunken neighbors starting their nightly screaming match in the background.

She used the soap and shampoo, then put the conditioner in her hair and lay back for a little while to let it do its thing. She closed her eyes and brought up her mental woods.

Long ago she had trained herself to relax her whirling mind enough to sleep. One of her many tricks had been to imagine a forest to an almost obscene detail. She would imagine not only the visual details but also the smells of the moss and trees, the sounds of a small creek below her. It was always summer in her imagined forest, the cicadas buzzing always cyclical in the distance. The cicadas might have to be removed from her mind, now that she was back in England. The birdsong always as close to real birds as she could remember. The clouds through the trees was surprisingly the hardest part to imagine. Something about the shadow and light made it very hard to imagine clouds as well as she could everything else. She lay on her back atop a log for a little while in her mind, just listening to imagined birdsong and allowing herself to just breathe out the strain of the last few years. Even if it was only for a little while. She was safe here.

The Wizarding world would probably get news tomorrow that she was dead- thanks to an anonymous tip from someone in the Order- and if her plan in the muggle world worked like she planned, it should be confirmed in the muggle papers within the week. Harry- no _Voldemort-_ would believe her dead and she could figure out how to kill _him_. She needn't even worry about Malfoy because he would not even be here often.

The smell of chicken brought her out of her doze. Chicken and a ravenous appetite and the water cooling. She rinsed out her hair and washed her face. With a towel wrapped around her, Hermione stepped out of the bathroom and found a simple chicken and rice soup steaming on the small table with a goblet and jug next to the bowl. Cold water was in the jug and the soup was delicious.

So hungry was Hermione that she ate the soup while standing in her towel. So focused on the bowl that when it was finished and she set it down, she noticed for the first time the crusty warm bread sitting next to the bowl with a bit of butter and honey on the side.

She decided to give the soup some time to digest before having the bread. But she couldn't resist putting a drop of honey on her finger and licking it off, tasting that warm golden sweetness before she went to get dressed.

Dressed with her hair pulled back in a French braid, she sat down to enjoy the bread like a civilized person rather than the half starved woman she had been while bolting the soup down.

The drizzled honey on the rich bread may as well have been heaven to Hermione. She hadn't had anything decadent in years. Other than some stale apple pie from the old woman who seemed to always make too much for herself down the hall when she lived in New York City. And that had always had the faintest taste of cigarette smoke.

She ate the bread slowly, trying to plan out the next few days.

Where would she even start? They had tried fiendfyre and Harry had lived through it. The killing curse had no effect. Several poisonings had led to nothing. What else was there? How was he so powerful? He ought to just be a horcrux, and attached to the body in the same way. She was nearly certain that the Harry she knew and loved had died and this Voldemort possessed body was just that- a shell for the spirit of Voldemort. Which meant she needed to look into possessions maybe. She also would need more information about what _he_ had been doing since she had gone into hiding.

She didn't bother finishing the last few bites of the bread. Her stomach was pleasantly full, and she crawled under the covers without bothering to brush her teeth. She was just too exhausted. The surrounding softness engulfed her and she was asleep seconds after she lay down.

* * *

"Master?" Floppy whispered when she arrived in her masters private study.

"Has she settled in, Floppy?" Draco asked the elf softly.

"Yes, Master. Floppy needed to use a healing potion on her."

"For her arm?"

"Miss had a large wound on her shoulder as well, Master, and a fractured rib. Miss has got many bruises. Miss did not tell Floppy what happened."

"That's rather worrisome," Draco answered with a frown. How could she have hidden that many injuries from him without magic? "I'm sure you'll take excellent care of her Floppy. She's very important to me." He swirled his firewhiskey, thinking as he watched the amber liquid swish around the glass. It made such a beautiful color when combined with the firelight. "Remember Floppy. You must help her to find whatever literature she needs to solve this… problem. But keep her out of the West Wing. It's vital she not find out about… well. You know."

"Floppy will always remember."

Draco smiled down at her. "Our families will be avenged."

Floppy smiled back and nodded eagerly to her master.

* * *

A/N: First of all, thanks for reading and for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Secondly, Hermione's dominant hand is never actually mentioned in the books, but there's a belief that she was left handed, and I think it's right. So she's left handed to me. As I mentioned previously, this story is going to be updated on Mondays, so see you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Hermione awoke slowly. She drifted back to consciousness on a gentle breeze of comfort. The scents of lilac and soft cotton infiltrated her mind and her gentle awakening turned abruptly to a jerking one. "Where am-" She looked around wildly, coming fully awake as she muttered. She remembered.

Laying back, she looked up at the canopy above her and tried to remember that this place, this luxury surrounding her, was not a dream. She was in the palace of Draco Malfoy with the intention of finding a magical means to kill Harry Potter. _If my 16 year old self could see me now…_ but her 16 year old self was naive and filled with girlish daydreams. And dead. That part of Hermione was dead. One day, she might try to revive her but for now, this comfortable bed was nice, but the feel of her wand and the ability to use her magic without being killed would be better.

She would be alone. That was not a new phenomenon. She quite preferred to be alone, but the house was just so _quiet_. She'd grown accustomed to thin walls and car alarms, children running about and screeching, neighbors yelling incomprehensible nonsense at the crack of dawn, fans blowing, and the rumble of nearby roadways. The silence of the room made her aware of her heart beating and the ticking of her eyelids as she blinked. The silence made her both relaxed and anxious at once. Too many new things. Too much silence. She needed time to process.

She sighed and got up. She was being melodramatic. What she _really_ needed was to pee and brush her teeth.

Today was Tuesday and Malfoy had said he wouldn't be returning until Thursday. So. "Floppy?" Hermione called while she brushed her hair.

"Yes Miss?" Floppy asked as she appeared. Hermione could barely find the little elf under the tray of coffee, tea, scones, and muffins with several jams and marmalades she held.

Before Hermione answered with her inquiry, she said, "Floppy put that tray down at the table please? Thank you very much for bringing it up. I really appreciate it." Floppy had hurried over to the table as Hermione spoke. "Now then. I'm here to do research Floppy, did you know that?"

"Yes Miss." Floppy answered solemnly.

"Ok. Well I'll need a few things. Can you get things for me?"

"Of course Miss. Master has asked me to provide Miss with any things she needs for her very important research."

"Wonderful. I'll need paper and quills and ink, of course. But I'll also need a basic potion brewing set, can that be made available for me?"

"Of course Miss."

"And as many old editions of the Daily Prophet as you can find. I've been out of the Wizarding world for quite some time and I need to catch up."

"Yes Miss." Floppy answered and then bowed.

"I'll be spending most of my time on the second floor, so when you find all those things, take them there, alright?"

The little elf nodded and then cracked out of the room.

Hermione discovered a large quantity of muggle clothes in a chest of drawers and chose them over the robes. She'd never really liked wearing the long dresses and cloaks of the Wizarding world and her recent experience in the muggle world left the idea of robes yet more unfavorable to her. She wondered where in the world Floppy could have gotten these muggle clothes. She couldn't have gone into the muggle world to buy them and it was unlikely that Draco knew enough about the muggle world to go get them himself.

While pulling on some nice wool socks Hermione started wondering if Malfoy could have used the Imperius curse to make some shopkeeper just … hand things over. Her hands froze for a moment with half her foot hanging out of the sock when this thought occurred to her. She looked at the clothes again and wondered anew.

Every piece looked freshly laundered, no price tags were present... Maybe he'd just stolen them. Or taken them from some Muggles house after having killed her because she was about Hermione's size.

Hermione looked at the clothes blankly. Maybe it would be better to use the robes. Those at least she knew to be bought. But did she? Did she even know _that_?

"Floppy," She whispered through strangely dry lips.

Floppy popped into the room and asked, "Yes Miss?"

"Where did these clothes come from?" She asked accusingly. She ought not be angry at the elf but the thought that Malfoy might have done evil to provide her with _clothes_ of all things made her feel crazy. Like she didn't understand the world.

The elf blushed. "I made them for Miss."

"You. You made them?" Hermione sputtered, relieved but also confused.

Floppy nodded. Shy, but wanting praise.

"Floppy I can't believe it! These are so cool! Thanks! I can't tell you the things I was thinking," She laughed.

Floppy was beaming at the praise but a frown crossed her brow at the last bit. She didn't understand what other types of things Miss could have been thinking. Hermione thanked her again and Floppy took that as her dismissal. This witch really didn't understand how to treat elves, Floppy believed.

Hermione buttered a scone and made her coffee for the morning trying to figure out the details of the character of one Draco Malfoy, despite not having seen him in about five years and having only very limited details on his personality. _Would_ he have stolen clothes for her? Probably not, but she was really not sure where he drew the line these days. She drank her coffee and made a preliminary list of subjects to research to distract herself from thinking too deeply about Malfoy.

* * *

The room was too dark. That kind of simple description of the quality of the light in this room really seemed unsatisfactory. It wasn't the _light_ that was the problem.

When you stood before the single most evil wizard who had ever lived, even if there had been floodlights illuminating the space around you both, it would still seem to be dark. But as it was, Draco stood before the Dark Lord in what would have been a well lit room the essential evil of his master seemed to suck all the light out of the room. Without the light, the attention of all the Death Eaters in the room was drawn toward him no matter how menial a task he was performing.

Something about the large ever-bleeding side of his face held the eye with a horrified fascination. The wound had been caused in the final battle. It seemed to constantly bleed, never clotting but also never dampen his clothing. The entire half of his face had been blown off, and yet the muscles exposed by the missing flesh seemed mostly undisturbed. Some of his unruly black hair had likewise disappeared in the blast which took the skin from his face. Some of his skull on that side was exposed.

There was no rot that had set in over the last five years, but neither had there been any healing. No smell came from the bloody wound, not even the coppery bloody smell one would have expected to smell near such a large wound. Draco's mind often wandered to how this was possible when not under the Dark Lord's close scrutiny. Was the blood real or just an illusion?

A door nearby being closed seemed to rouse the corpse of Harry Potter from its thoughtful inspection of his wand.

"The last time we met, an attempt was made to kill me," The being wearing Harry Potter's skin began. His voice was disturbingly exactly as Potter's own had been. Draco often wished he had the soft whispery voice of Voldemort. That would have been easier to deal with. "It has failed, obviously." He continued. "Thanks in part to one of our most faithful believers. Bellatrix come here."

Even Bellatrix seemed to be slightly disturbed when looking directly at the Dark Lord's face. But she looked up at him with adoration written all over her face regardless. "My lord," She breathed worshipfully.

The Dark Lord announced, "You shall be rewarded for your devotion my dear Bellatrix…" Draco ignored the rest. He could only hope that his own scrutiny might be eased with the return of Bellatrix's favor. He cupped her cheek and a strange softness came over his features, the sudden change drawing Draco's attention. "As your reward I shall allow you to see our daughter." He whispered. Draco, closer than he normally was to his Lord's chair, heard and his interest peaked sharply. A daughter? How had he not known about that? He shut down his interest and covered it in thoughts of his plans for the future. It would do no good to let his Lord know what he had heard.

Draco had been a great favorite of the Dark Lord for more than a year and the depravity of the Dark Lord's views on entertainment were becoming increasingly difficult to feign interest in. It would do him some good to be able to escape a revel or two. Maybe if… _Later_ Draco growled to himself. It would do no good to even think about his disinterest in the Dark Lord's entertainment, even if _He_ wasn't paying attention to him right then.

"Draco," The Dark Lord called, still playing with Bellatrix's face. "I believe you had a report to deliver."

Draco did. He turned to to the high ranking Death Eaters and gave his required mission report of the Goblin's Rebellion they had recently squashed. The little shits had been holding their money hostage. Draco had led a special forces team of his own design into the Gringott's stronghold and now there were only a few Goblins left alive.

In all of Britain.

Draco could see that he had pleased _Him_ in the glances and pleaded expressions of the surrounding members of the inner circle.

The tactical prowess Draco had developed in the last few years had surprised many people who didn't know him well. It was no surprise to his father nor to the Dark Lord. Both of them recognized a scheming nature in Draco from a young age. It only took a bit of training in military tactics before Draco showed his true colors. After years of practice, he was the lead on most military operations. He had a knack for selecting the best course of action to turn anything to his favor. The legend of his military prowess was well noted by the Dark Lord and he was very well rewarded for his successes- even when it had been only Draco to survive a raid on the enemy.

Of course, no one could ever prove that Draco had maybe helped some of his fellow Death Eaters to die in the heat of battle. No one would suspect it when he got such good results. Like getting the goblins to surrender their money once more.

Of course he left out that most of the goblins had been sent to the Americas through a highly illegal and totally untraceable portkey that Draco had brought with him at the instruction of the Order of the Phoenix. Nor that some of the bodies had been dummies to fool the lower ranking Death Eater cleanup crew.  
It was absolutely true that he was very proud of his actions and that now there were only a few goblins left alive in all of Britain. He just neglected to mention that not all of them had been _killed_.

* * *

That Tuesday Hermione spent familiarizing herself with Harry's movements through the Daily Prophet. She knew it was all heavy propaganda, but she was smart enough to get the basics of the overthrow of the ministry and closing of all the Wizarding borders out of the articles. She had no idea how so many people could have succumbed to fear so _fast_.

Five years was really not that long, and yet most of the major operations had been completed within eighteen months! She couldn't believe it. The Battle of Hogwarts had been reported as though it had been a minor skirmish. There had been no mention of a final showdown between Harry and Voldemort, not that she had been expecting it. Harry had been listed as _missing_ after that battle. So had she. And Ron, the whole Weasley family, Luna, Neville, and most of her classmates.

She would need more information. She had known that there was much Draco was going to have to tell her, but she had really hoped to get most of the story from the papers. No such luck.

She also made a rather morbidly extensive list of possible ways to kill Harry.

She took tea at 2:30 and asked Floppy to sit with her, as much for information as to hear another voice in the silent house. Floppy was uncomfortable sitting, but Hermione suggested she just clean while they chatted. The elf was content with this compromise. This would become a regular routine for them.

It was during the second of these chats on Wednesday afternoon that Hermione found out that the chateau used to be a Muggle building. "Many many enchantments is on the building, more than any other of the Malfoy Estates. It's possibly the safest house in all of Britain, Miss. Master wouldn't have it any other way." Hermione wondered what Floppy meant by that but Floppy quickly continued, "Muggles destroyed the building during some war or another, and there's no trace of it left in their world."

Hermione thought about that for a moment. Not only was it a Muggle building and so hard to find in the Wizarding world, but also it was a reportedly destroyed one as well. She truly was safe here, so long as Malfoy didn't tell anyone where the building was. Ron couldn't tell because his life depended on it. She was all alone except for Floppy. "How interesting," Hermione said while she thought. "Can you tell me anything about your master, Floppy? I know you're bound to remain quiet but…" She sighed. "Never mind. You probably can't tell me anything anyway."

"Master is…" Floppy had stopped her cleaning and was staring at the wall as though transfixed. "Kind. He has… pain and… anger, but… not toward Floppy."

Hermione stared into her teacup while she thought about this. "Do you… do you know why he agreed to house me?" Hermione asked.

Floppy turned around and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "No Miss. I never thought… it wouldn't be my place to ask, Miss."

"I don't know either." When Hermione locked eyes with the little elf, she found herself continuing her inner monologue aloud, "He hated me in school. I haven't any idea what would make him suddenly change his mind and try to aid me. The things that _he_ is doing," She gestured to the papers on a desk not far away, "Are bad, but not really worse than what _he_ did in the past, do you understand?" Floppy nodded and stepped a bit closer. "The missing people, the rapes, the press takeover, the _Ministry_ takeover, nothing unlike what happened before. So why would Malfoy have changed his mind?" Hermione said, continuing thinking aloud.

The elf broke eye contact and scurried back to her cleaning. "Floppy doesn't know Miss. Maybe Miss should ask Master?"

Hermione decided that it would be best to drop the conversation. Something had obviously spooked Floppy, and it would probably not help to push her.

She finished her tea and went back to her book. When Floppy asked if she was done, Hermione nodded and thanked her graciously.

Wednesday night, Hermione received a short note from Ron asking how she'd been. She wrote him back an equally short note stating that everything was fine and she was chasing down several ideas. She requested an untraceable wand if he could get it. She would need it to make potions.

She took time that evening to read a book for pleasure, something she hadn't done in eons. After a half hour or so of trying to pay attention to the simple book, she sighed heavily and put it down.

She picked up her notes and poured over them once more. She added a note: _if we succeed in killing him, what to do about his loyalists?_ And as she put the quill back in its pot, she wondered aloud, "And how will we know if he's dead?" Her eyes widened, realizing that Draco Malfoy must have some larger goal in all of this.

She groaned and put her head in her hands, "Gods, how could I have been so **stupid**? Of course he would want to be the one to tell everyone Harry is dead. Then he would be safe from prosecution." She muttered to herself. She rolled her eyes. "And he could make himself be the hero of the story. Typical fucking Slytherin." She stood from her table and stretched. She decided that she would talk to him about all of the details of Harry tomorrow when he came.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! I'm really enjoying reading your reactions, so drop me a review! I'm curious to know where you all think this is going! Happy Halloween and I'll see you all next week for Chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

Thursday morning, Hermione was in the library reading about a particular breed of dark creature called the Night Terror in preparation for reading about the Night Terror's more widely known cousin, the Night Mare. They were both vaguely horse shaped spectral beings which fed on the fear of all animals by manipulating a creature's dreams. The presence of either species made any sleeping being have bad dreams in varying degrees based on the species, the fear would pour out of the victim and the Night Mare (or Terror) would feast. She had stumbled across the name and was merely satisfying her curiosity on the magical creatures.

The soft clink of a cup in its saucer being placed on the table next to her reminded her that the world outside of her mind existed. Not looking up, she said, "Thanks," to the elf she presumed had brought the cup. She took a sip and winced, "A bit less sugar next time, alright?" She said still not looking up. She reached her hand out to pat the head of her new favorite elf.

 _In times of war the Night Terror begins a rapid reproduction cycle and lays many crops of eggs in the fallen-_

That was not Floppy's head.

Cloth.

Her stream of consciousness froze as though caught on a tack.

"I'll remember that," a drawling voice answered, "If I ever bring you a drink again. Would you now care to explain what exactly your hand is doing on my leg?"

She snatched her hand back and looked up at the amused gaze of Draco Malfoy. "Sorry, I uh… I thought you were Floppy."

His smirk grew, "Well, I don't think it appropriate to be speculating on _that_ exactly." Hermione's face exploded into a blush and she looked away. "Oh come on, Granger. You walked into that one. Don't go all prude on me when I jump on the joke."

"Child." Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. "When did you get back? Was there a reason you came in here, Malfoy? Why are you bringing me coffee, I mean?"

He sat in the arm chair across from her while she spoke. He tented his fingers under his chin and spent a moment with his eyes closed, examining her in his mind's eye. He opened them and was surprised all over again about the flutter of nerves having her nearby still awoke within him. It was… _inappropriate._ "Floppy has mentioned your interest in the Daily Prophet. An article in today's has caught my eye," He answered finally, trying- and failing- to not sound stiff and formal.

"It's not about me is it?" Hermione asked, worried. "I mean… it's too soon for people to know I'm dead, right?"

His cold eyes warmed slightly and then hardened again just as fast. "Not about you. The werewolves." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration at his nervousness coming through in the gesture and summoned the paper, then handed it across the short distance between them.

 _ **Werewolves Attack Muggle London**_

 _ **30-40 Muggles Turned, Even More Killed!**_

Hermione's nose crinkled in repulsion. The excited tone of the article was disgusting. She checked that where the attack happened was not near where her parents used to live and ignored the twinge of guilt associated with thinking about her parents. "While disgusting, I don't see why-"

"Look at the date of the attack."

She looked again and realized it was the same day, although a few miles away, as when she had gone to meet Ron. When she had come back to the Order.

"How did… coincidence?"

"I'm not sure. I'm also very curious why this article came out today, given the attack happened _days_ ago."

"Wait. Did you hear about it at all? In your meetings with you know… them?"

"No, but they almost never have explicit _plans_ for the packs." He stood and walked toward the fireplace. "Just a general idea of where they might want to go next time. Werewolves don't take orders very well, you see. Do you think you might have been followed to that pub?"

Hermione thought back to that night. Her nerves and hyperaware examination of everyone she crossed paths with on the road. "I don't think so. I tried to not dress like myself and not look like myself but… that only goes so far without magic- I mean I was as cautious as I could possibly be and-"

He smirked, looking back at her from where he stood by the fireplace, "It's just a question Granger. Not an aptitude test. Not your OWLs. I don't think it's any more than coincidence."

She huffed in irritation at him. "Was that all you came to speak to me about or were you planning on making fun of me some more?"

"Well, not exactly planning, but should the opportunity present itself…" He shrugged.

She frowned at him to try to hide the laughter she felt bubbling in her chest.

"Oh come on, Granger. Lighten up would you? I've had an especially horrible week." He sat down again, and she wondered why he had stood to begin with.

"Oh, _you've_ had a horrible week have you? I had to fake my own death this week, you know. I was shot at for heaven's sake! What could have been so bad for you?"

The flurry of expression that passed through Malfoy's eyes were hard to follow, but surprise was not present. "Things I should really rather not discuss in present company." He answered dryly. "Fine, I see your point, no pleasantries then. How's the research coming along?"

 _Floppy did tell him then._ "Well enough. I've a long list of possibilities to sort through, but I'm making progress. I'll need you to give me more information." She made a mental note that Floppy would tell him anything she said and so to guard her tongue.

"Fine. And your accommodations are appropriate?"

"Yes, thank you."

He nodded and crossed his legs again. "Chess?"

She glanced at her book, then back to him. "Fine. Though I'm not terribly good at wizard's chess."

"Boring muggle chess then?"

She blinked in surprise. "Alright. But you must tell me everything you know about _Him_ while we play."

Draco nodded and waved his wand for the board and pieces. With another wave, the pieces were in their right places and Hermione began by moving a pawn. "Tell me about him," She said as he moved his own pawn.

A small smirk and dark humor flashed in his slate eyes. "He lives, much to my chagrin."

"Is that all you would say on the matter?" She invited, debating with her aggravation.

"Of course not," He answered, bringing out a bishop carelessly. "He's a monster. Preoccupied with finding and destroying every last ray of hope in the country and he uses me to do his dirty work." She had moved another pawn and he brought his own out to meet it. "A bit forthright in your attack, eh, Granger? Just as well. You Gryffindors are all like that." She frowned at him. "Oh don't look so cross. You'd be rubbish at poker. What do you need to know?"

She sighed and moved a rook, realizing he'd not known what to say and lashed out. "Let's start with the beginning. Do you know how _He_ became Harry?"

"Not the details. There was a larger battle going on, you'll remember." She glared and he grinned, moving his bishop again. "Let's see, you were there when his body was presented, yes?"

Hermione nodded and took his rook.

"When Potter made his move, chaos erupted. From what I could gather, it seems that the pair of them had their grand battle at the top of the astronomy tower. Potter grabbed _Him_ and they were meant to fall to their death… Only something went wrong." Draco paused and examined the board. He'd taken a knight from her and she had set up a trap in four moves. He had two options to get out of it. He chose the riskier of the two, curious what option she would take. "When the change happened, the Death Eaters were called immediately to his side. A momentary confusion, you can imagine, happened afterward. Several people attempted to kill him. No effect. They were punished for… attempting to steal the glory of the Dark Lord." He rolled his eyes. "We had all been instructed to restrain Potter, not kill or even injure."

She was staring at the board, engrossed in his tale. "What did they try, do you know? What were the effects? I know some one has tried at least the Killing Curse, has anyone tried any of the other Unforgivables? Did he block them with a spell or was it a-"

Draco laughed. "Calm down. You're barely coherent when you speak so fast." He watched a blush spread across her high cheekbones. Still she didn't look at him. "I don't know exactly what they tried, though it seemed like the spells all just rebounded off him. It didn't look like it took any effort."

"Did he have Harry's wand or _His_?"

" _His_."

Hermione made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat and a few moves later took Draco's queen with a rook. Then she glanced at his face to enjoy the scowl. "What about injuries? Physical ones? Did he have broken bones or wounds or anything?"

Draco had been scowling at the board and glanced up, meeting her eyes. A hot flush seemed to erupt within him and he frowned deeper. Could he at least use nonverbal cues? It seemed not.

"What, I start to win and now you don't want to talk?"

"I can't, Granger," He growled.

"You-" She glanced at his face again. Saw something resembling honesty in it. She made the thoughtful noise in her throat again. "Interesting. That means there is a physical wound and it's tied to something which is weakening him. Or shows his weakness. Very interesting." She waited for Draco to make his move and then slid her last piece into place. "Check."

His scowl deepened. He'd known she was smart, but seeing her instantly work out something which had taken him a week to conclude was both frustrating and enlightening. Perhaps the Order was right to put so much faith in her. He moved his king.

"Checkmate," She said softly and then turned to her notes and began scribbling furiously.

Draco stared at the board. How had she set up multiple traps so quickly? And while working on this problem at the same time? Merlin she was… _a mudblood_ he reminded himself. Not something he liked. Not something to respect. Not something to be anything to him but a prop to be used for his personal gains. He needed to regain the upper hand. But how?

"Floppy," He called.

When she appeared she bowed to him and said, "Hello Master Draco. How can Floppy be of assistance?"

"How are the potions doing?"

"Very well, Master. Only two more weeks for one and another will be ready in twelve hours."

"Wonderful. And for this evenings dinner?"

"This evening will begin with creamy leek soup. Braised short ribs with garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus spears will be the main course."

"Delightful. Check in my other residences for mail. Then make sure you mend that cloak I brought you. Oh, and a firewhiskey. Bring me the decanter and something for a snack."

Floppy nodded. With a gesture Draco dismissed her and gauged the reaction from the frizzy headed witch. _No outward irritation. Interesting._

 _Oh adorable. He thinks he can goad me into something with so brazen of a power play? What an idiot._ "Tell me what you can about your dark mark. I fear I only have hearsay and superstition to go on, though I'm fairly certain it's based on the Protean Charm." Hermione invited quietly when she put her book aside and manually put the pieces back at their starting point.

He was actually slightly disappointed that she hadn't gotten riled up in his dismissive attitude of Floppy. He had expected her to be more… well more herself. No self-righteousness? She hadn't even shown interest in the potions. And that was strange wasn't it? Hadn't he always known her to be one of the nosiest people on the planet? Seems like he remembered her to always want to know everything. Especially if the actions of anyone was potentially evil or malicious or against the rules. Maybe she didn't think him evil or some other such rubbish. Well, she would likely be the first person to not believe him to be evil in some respect, so that would be a change. But she had never treated him as anything but suspicious so that probably wasn't it. Did he even know anything about her? He couldn't think of much beyond her blood status, vast wealth of knowledge, general bossy attitude, mostly bitchy nature, and her insufferable attention seeking through academia. Perhaps there must be some courage or bravery somewhere in there, and certainly there must be loyalty or else how had she been sorted into Gryffindor?

"Malfoy?" She said quietly.

He'd forgotten she was there. He'd been thinking so hard he'd forgotten the _object_ of his line of thought was in front of him, waiting for him to make his move and answer her question. "Right." He moved a pawn out, using a different strategy. "The Dark mark is… probably a spell that _He_ came up with." Draco stared at the board, oddly disturbed by having to discuss the brand on his arm. He removed his cufflink on his left sleeve and rolled the fabric back, showing her the marred skin, to prove to himself as much as her that the conversation didn't bother him. "Don't touch it. I'm sure you've never seen one up close."

"No, I haven't," She responded, softly, looking at the Dark Mark he displayed. "When you're signalled, does it burn as I've been lead to believe?"

"Worse than any physical burn I've experienced," He answered, trying not to show pain in his face. "It aches most of the time. Like a… like new skin. You know, like when you scrape off some and it grows back."

She glanced at his face and his face was unguarded for the briefest of moments. She was surprised to see sorrow and fear in his expression. Then the metaphorical mask of indifference came back and she almost wished she could have seen below the surface for longer. _I am just lonely, not actually interested in being his friend_ she told herself. "When you got it? Do you remember the spell?"

He shook his head. "It was… a traumatic experience. I don't remember the details very well."

She frowned and looked again at the Mark. She saw the snake moving slightly, as though repositioning itself in its sleep. "Is it.. How do you activate it?" She had almost foolishly asked if it was alive.

"You touch it with your wand, there is a nonverbal spell that goes along with it, though saying it aloud also activates it, so, forgive me for not speaking it to satisfy your curiosity."

She rolled her eyes. Leaning back, she nodded her head to indicate she was done examining it. He rolled down his sleeve. She made her next move while she turned the image around in her mind. Thinking about the things Harry had told her about Voldemort. Reexamining the Dark Mark again in her mind. She wondered what the symbols meant to Voldemort. Why pick _those_ images together… Malfoy made his move and Hermione took her own turn.

The silent movements of the marble pieces in the quiet of the library beginning to bother Hermione again. The silence seemed to scream in all its possibilities. Her mind began its ritualistic list of possible tragedies. "Can you give me an idea of what's controlled by _Him_?" she asked instead of begging him to tell her anything as long as it took over this silence stretching out between them and causing her soul to creak in protest. She couldn't have understood her own feelings on the silence if she had tried but for now she didn't want to think of it. He met her eyes and she practically felt the attempt to understand her in the gaze. _Did he know? Could he know? How would he ever understand how much pain there is in the silence of this prison?_ _In the silence of my life?_

" _He_ is in control of everything. He's Imperio-ed or intimidated every witch or wizard still free in the British Isles. The others are in his ranks, or his inner circle. The small uprisings are how I still have a job." He answered, sensing there was something wrong beneath the surface of her calm expression. Something that made her eyes rigid and mouth tight.

"What does that mean?" she asked, moving her bishop across the board and taking his rook.

"I'm responsible for sniffing out and squashing the people who resist his rule, Granger. How do you think I know what to warn the Order about?"

 _Well, that's unpleasant._ "But you can't get away with that every time, surely. You wouldn't have so much power if you failed all the time." She pointed out, her heart calming the more they spoke and warded off the silence.

He smirked. "Of course not. But it's easy enough to fake deaths and get witches and wizards out of the country. You did it, and you even did it without magic."

She realized he was trying to be funny, but for whatever reason felt herself resenting him for it. How could he _dare_ to try to be funny in this world? She certainly hadn't felt humor appropriate to the discussion at hand. He took her queen and she felt the anger spilling over her containment of it. "Yes," she said tightly. "I did do it without magic. I haven't been able to use magic for more than five years, if you'll remember." She physically bit her tongue to end the stupid petty tirade where it was. She sighed and focused on her fingertips. She counted the ridges on her fingerprints, trying to get control of her emotions before she spontaneously used magic. She'd never known if wandless magic would trip some sensor in the wand tracking department, but she didn't want to find out just then.

"I know, Granger." Malfoy answered her after a moment.

Her pride demanded that she correct him. He _didn't_ know what it was like to live without magic. He'd had it his whole life. He'd never been anything _but_ a wizard. She was the one who had gone back and forth in her life and he could never understand the sheer _terror_ of waking in the middle of the night to another nightmare and finding the room floating around you and having to run because you couldn't wait around to find out if it would draw Death Eaters to kill you, even if there was a literal ocean between you.

She bit her tongue harder. Tasted the coppery tang of blood. Took a deep breath. Took the first piece of a trap intended to wipe out half his forces. Met his eyes. Said, "No you don't. And if I have my way, Malfoy, you never will."

He saw the old Hermione staring at him, then. Not the hollowed out shell of a woman who had been speaking to him until then. He smiled a small smile, actually relieved to see that the skin of the girl he had grown up hating still held the spirit of the woman he'd secretly admired. It made his next sentence all the sweeter to be looking at the fiery glare of his former rival when he said, "Checkmate."

A/N: I'm so sorry! I forgot to post last week! I've been wrestling with my real life a lot lately so I've been massively busy. I'll get back to my normal weekly posting schedule. Normally I would have doubled up on the chapters but I think I'll just go with this chapter and then new chapter next Monday. This chapter feels pretty satisfying for me as the reader as well as the author. Like there's no cliffhanger or anything. The conversation continues, but I _really_ want to hear your thoughts on this info without revealing the next bits of information. So lemme know what you think!

Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione looked between the board and Malfoy several times, unable to believe he had won. Then she began to laugh. "Do you know how long it's been since someone beat me in chess?" She asked laughing. " _Years_ , Malfoy. Centuries, eons, and you beat me with a simple Blackburne-Shilling Gambit?" She laughed all the harder.

Draco smiled and watched her laugh. He glanced over and noticed for the first time that the decanter and snack he had asked for had been brought by Floppy and he hadn't noticed them. With a wave of his wand, he cleared the table of the chessboard and placed the food in its place. Hermione wiped her eyes and, still giggling, asked, "Where did you learn to play?"

"My father," He answered, choosing to ignore the twist of pain in his chest at mentioning… He poured a finger of whiskey. When he caught her watching him, he offered her a glass. She shook her head and he pretended to believe she wasn't trying to figure him out. He would not- _could_ not- become curious about her. He had to make her uninterested in him as well. That feeling of reciprocation in conversation would be all too easy to fall into.

Hermione was having a similar realization and her smile faded from her face. She cleared her throat. "Back to what we were discussing, is there anything you can tell me about his plans? Does he just want all the power or is there a greater goal than that in his mind? Obviously I mean aside from the eradication of people like me."

"That seems to be all. Though recently, I did overhear an _extremely_ interesting bit of information. He has a daughter." He took a drink while he watched her reaction.

Hermione sat bolt upright in her chair. "With which body?" she demanded.

 _Interesting._ "I don't know. I would imagine it's with the... Previous one, I suppose you could say."

Hermione's mind was racing. The child might be a pressure point, but what mattered to her more was the possibility that the child might be an indicator of whether Harry's body was just a suit for the spirit of Voldemort to inhabit or if the boy she had loved as a brother could possibly be still alive. Possibly. Or was it not? Hermione couldn't decide.

She did know that he was probably inhabiting the dying body of Harry. If he had a wound that his followers couldn't talk about, it seemed logical that he was at the very least weakened by the state of his body. The fact that the Harry-Voldemort hybrid could still use the Elder wand was quite telling. Perhaps their magical cores had merged… she would have to think about how to figure that bit out. She had a hunch that the body was in the process of dying and that Harry was in there somewhere, in agony as his body continued to move while it was simultaneously dying. What a horrifying thought. She shuddered.

Draco took another drink and bit into a small sandwich that Floppy had brought. He watched Hermione think. The bags under her eyes he had noticed when she first arrived were shrinking already. Floppy had informed him that her physical wounds were healed. So that only left… of course.

How could he have been so stupid? She was shellshocked from her days on the run. That certainly explained her tense and watchful behavior.

He ran through her actions and suspected something was causing her a huge amount of stress, at the very least. Could he ease that somehow? He didn't think she would be as effective at figuring all this out if she was stressed. Perhaps some music or… a painting to talk to? Something. He shouldn't be so attached. She was just so… not herself. He didn't know how to understand _her_ much less this 'mostly her' shell. He couldn't help himself from watching her and assessing her. It was a similar habit he had toward an enemy but… _not_ at the same time. Gods, she was confusing. Maybe he needed to ignore her more. She shouldn't be this interesting to him.

"Eat, Granger." He said when he noticed her eyes tightening again and a shiver run through her. _Well, my plan to ignore her is going swimmingly._

She looked at him, startled out of her thoughts. "What?"

"Eat. You're half starved." He said again in a way that didn't come off as caring, he hoped. She looked from his face to the tray of sandwiches. Frowned. "Floppy," She called.

The little elf appeared with a smile. "Yes Miss?"

"Could I have some more of that soup from my first night here?"

"Of course Miss! Bread and honey too?"

Hermione nodded with a smile to the elf. "Thanks Floppy." Hermione said.

Floppy disappeared. Hermione looked at Malfoy and said, "There. Satisfied?"

Draco smirked and chose not to make another inappropriate joke. "Now then. What else do you need to know about _Him_?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Everything. But let's go off what we have."

"Well, the scar is gone." Draco said after a moment of reflection.

"Harry's scar? On his forehead?"

Draco nodded but couldn't elaborate.

"Any idea if any of his other scars are missing?"

Draco shook his head.

"Is he… he's not _rotting_ is he?"

Draco had been taking a sip of his whiskey and snorted a laugh. With a shake of his head and raised eyebrows, he answered, "No," without looking at her.

Floppy dropped off the soup, bread, and honey along with some water. Hermione thanked her and she began to eat.

Hermione thought for a moment as she ate. Not allowing herself the luxury of thinking too deeply about Malfoy was easier than she would have thought. The information he had was fascinating. She was fairly confident in believing Harry's body was weak and Voldemort couldn't keep it alive forever. How could she ascertain how much the body was weakened? "Do you see him do much magic?" She asked between bites.

Draco had been staring at the fire, lost in thought. Her voice pulled him back. "Not much. He's always made others do most magic, except killing and torturing. Now that you mention it… it does seem like he uses it for fewer mundane tasks now. Though that might be a biased opinion."

She nodded, making that thoughtful noise in the back of her throat again. "Interesting," She muttered. Tapping her fingernails on the table between them, she thought for a second. Then she said, "Would it be more accurate to say he is weaker magically or that he doesn't use it as often?" He frowned, so she clarified, "What I mean is, would you say he doesn't use magic because it's difficult for him? Or does it seem more like he's making others do magic for him as a power play?"

Draco made his own thoughtful noise in the back of his throat once he understood her meaning. "Well, now." He said after a moment. "Weakness is a possibility. He stares at his wand a lot when he thinks. He also won't let anyone touch-" Draco's throat closed. He took a gasping breath and changed his mind on his next words. "-his person." He finished in also tight voice.

Hermione had seen it. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Anything else?" She asked. She thought about the wand for a moment. Thinking about its allegiance and wondering if it was working well for him. After all, the Elder wand was notoriously unloyal. Hadn't she realized that from the Tales of Beedle the Bard? Malfoy wouldn't know that the Elder wand was _real,_ much less had been in his presence every day for the past seven years. That was definitely something to keep from him.

Draco answered, "His toys are not to be touched. That includes his victims as well as his followers. Strict rules are in place to keep vendettas from occurring due to grievances. That's not changed, but probably not something you knew." She nodded and waited, knowing with a glance at his face that there was more. "He's… more vicious. Now, I mean." Draco's discomfort began to show. "His 'entertainment' always leaned toward the disgusting but now... " He made a face. "It's repulsive to even most of the Death Eaters. Sometimes he goes too far."

 _He's got little to no humanity left. Probably down to none at this point. Too many horcruxes. Could he have made more?_ "But does he have plans or is someone else putting in the orders? I must know."

Draco sat back in his chair, not realizing until then that he had sat forward in a telling posture. He tented his fingers under his chin and thought, trying to find a way around secrecy spells lighting his skin on fire. "I think he has broad plans but someone else is making the minor decisions. He used to be a… he used to make all the decisions but now it's…" Draco ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I can't tell you who."

Hermione frowned in her own frustration. These secrecy spells were something. "When did all of this become secret? Was it always so hard to talk about all this?"

Draco nodded and looked into his glass. "When my father…" He tried to find the words. Not because of the many secrecy spells cast on him, but more so she wouldn't know more about his father than she needed to know. "When my father was a Death Eater, before I became one, mind, he could barely discuss any plans or even events he had witnessed. I'm surprised that I've been able to tell you as much as I have, to be sure."

Hermione put the spoon down and looked away from his face, only realizing then that she had been watching his every move. Her gaze settled on the fire and she went through the information he had just told her. She was increasingly convinced that Harry/Voldemort was- for some reason- weaker magically than either had been while separate. Whether it was the Elder wand being forced to do magic it disliked or if the magical core of the hybrid wasn't strong enough to maintain the level of spells required to run _his_ empire was an important distinction. But how could she figure out which one it was? Hermione was not sure. She needed time to think it through.

His left arm twitched and he grimaced. "Great." He muttered. "Duty calls."

Hermione took another sip of her soup and watched him stand. "I have more questions," she said without emotion.

He smirked, "Have you ever run out?" She gave him a dirty look and he adjusted his tie. "I'll be back soon enough, we'll play again."

Maybe next time he would work up the nerve to ask her what she had been doing that had brought her back to England. About what had changed for her. Surely, it must have been massive for her to have faked her own death. He nodded curtly and walked out of the room, reordering his thoughts and compartmentalizing their conversation in preparation for seeing his fellow Death Eaters.

"Floppy!" He called as soon as he was at the bottom of the stairs.

She appeared, looking apprehensive, "Yes Master?"

"I need my cloak and mask."

Floppy trembled and disappeared with a crack. Draco shook his head, realizing he had frightened the poor little elf. When she reappeared with his things, he knelt in front of her to take the cloak and mask from her. "I'm sorry Floppy. I've been terribly short with you."

Floppy's big eyes examined his face closely. She was afraid of who he could become when he needed to be fierce. That person was so like the terrifying sire of her master that she could barely stand it. Draco saw her fear in the trembling of her lower lip. He reached a hand out to her and she took it in both of hers, whispering, "Is Master alright? You seem… strange since Miss came."

Draco smiled at her, "You're so perceptive, Floppy. It's stress." He felt like he was lying, but could find no actual lie in his words. "She needs to be kept a secret and it's hard. Do you understand? You know _they_ can read my mind."

Floppy nodded. She'd seen that happen many times to her master. It seemed very painful and yet she was forbidden to protect him from that pain. She understood the way he'd been acting then. He was being protective in a world where he couldn't protect his charge. She could understand that. She'd done it herself. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the last time she'd spoken to her son. She had also been trying to protect him. She'd been too harsh. She'd paid the price. She blinked away the tears. "I understand, Master Draco." She answered him with a nod.

He smiled at her. "Now, I have to go, Floppy. Take care of her. Take care of yourself. I'll send word before I return."

* * *

Neville Longbottom was maybe not the bravest of the Gryffindors, but he was possibly the most loyal. He'd been informed that Hermione Granger was faking her death and he was to be the way the Death Eaters would find out about it, but the problem with the kind of vague instruction was that he had no idea how to slip that kind of information to the right ears.

So on that Thursday afternoon while Hermione and Draco played chess, the opportunity to slip the information came by surprise. He was speaking to a work acquaintance and let slip that he'd seen a newspaper on a recent trip to the Muggle world with Hermione's face on it. He'd not planned to tell Henry at that moment, it had just slipped from his mouth suddenly and without any relation to their current conversation.

Neville had felt relieved until Henry had looked at him blankly. "Hermione Granger?" Henry McDonald had asked. "Who's that?"

Neville didn't quite know how to react. "She was friends with…. Potter. You know?"

"Well, I don't know who she is. What's it matter?"

Neville thought quickly. "It's just, they've been looking for her. You know how they are. If I say I saw it, they'll haul me in for questioning just for the fun of it. I thought maybe you..."

"What, is there a reward or somethin?"

Neville shrugged, "Maybe. I just thought maybe you might want to be the one to have found out. You know, it might help with your promotion."

At this, Henry's eyes cleared of all suspicion and filled with gratitude. "Nev, you're a good mate, you know that? You're right, it would make me look better. Maybe if I get a promotion me an' Mary can move into that place she's been eying…"

And just that quick, Neville's actual involvement in the discovery that Hermione Granger had been shot to death and then burned by a former accountant in the muggle world ended. Henry did exactly what Neville had hoped, he spread the rumor to the right people without mentioning Neville at all. Soon enough someone was dispatched to the muggle world to investigate.

By Friday morning, the press was all over the sensational (and tragic, since no one knew who she was, and pleas had been made for any family to come forward) murder of one Hermione Granger and the investigator was glad her job was made easier.

The investigator returned Friday afternoon and told her superior that the body had been burned to a crisp and the London Metro had turned the investigation over to Scotland Yard. She told him and showed him the press releases showing that Scotland Yard had used blood samples to match Hermione's DNA to the blood at the scene. They would have used dental records, if it hadn't been for the abuse she had suffered which shattered the majority of her teeth. And several bones.

They'd discovered Hermione's hair on stairs leading up to the floor where the body had been found, as well as some splatters of blood. They'd theorized the former accountant found at the scene had beaten her before forcing her to climb the stairs where he'd finished her off, then lit the body on fire as a forensic countermeasure.

Then the fool had tried to throw off their investigation with a wild call to 999 to alert the police to the burning body and claim there had been some woman there who had set the body on fire before he shot at her and she ran off.

This case was discussed as a possible entrant in the training manual as an example of desperate measures by psychopaths to get out of punishment for their crimes.

The magical investigator was given a raise.

Her boss made the floo call to his superior. He was given a bonus.

The superior made the floo call to Bellatrix LeStrange on Saturday morning.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites!


	6. Chapter 6

By early Friday evening, Draco was immensely irritated after having to deal with some of his subordinates fighting amongst themselves. Now, Draco was his way to speak with the Dark Lord about their punishment. He'd been called away from home to handle the pair of them fighting and had spent all night debriefing all the witnesses and making his stupid reports as he was obliged to do. _Being in charge was not fun when it means I have to deal with this shite paperwork,_ he reflected as he listened to his own echoing footsteps.

He was in the vaulted hall of the LeStrange Villa where Voldemort had decided to spend his winter as soon as the leaves began to fall. The air had a strange quality to it, which Draco was trying to figure out when he heard a pained groan from the end of the hallway. Not knowing if he should expect friend, foe, or some other lunacy he'd yet to meet in the last few years in the asylum of the Death Eaters, Draco cautiously stepped into the drawing room at the end of the hall.

Not seeing any immediate danger, Draco looked around the room. A high placed Ministry man was lying in a heap in a corner. Draco only recognized him by the absurd combover the man kept. His incurious gaze swept over the man long enough to identify him and then sought out Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was himself in a heap on the floor in front of the high backed chair he favored with his own hand around his throat. Draco looked around in a minor alarm, hoping to find himself alone other than the two men and was pleased to find no one else in the room. It gave him more time to analyze the situation.

"She's dead!" He heard the Harry/Voldemort thing screech before apparently lifting himself by the neck and slamming himself back into the floor.

Draco made a quiet thoughtful noise in the back of his throat as he put the pieces together. Voldemort apparently knew now that Hermione was 'dead'. It seemed like the _Harry_ part was somehow taking at least partial control over their shared body to attempt to kill _both_ of them in his grief. _Interesting_ Draco thought. Now the question was did he attempt to help or continue to stand back and watch?

"-ilth Mu-Blu-" the Dark Lord responded in a broken rasp. Then the sound of footsteps made Draco's decision to move. He chose retreat rather than any other option, feeling confident that he could probably not talk himself out of this one. He silently stepped backward until he was back in the hall just as he heard another door in the room open. He left the door cracked just a bit to avoid the sound of the lock clicking back into place.

"My Lord I-" The voice of Bellatrix LeStrange came through the crack in the door clearly. She stopped talking when she must have believed the room to have been empty. Then Draco heard a few more steps and a sudden flurry of skirts and a cautious "My Lord are you-" She cut herself off then continued sounding panicked, "Are you- What are you d-?!" She had ended on a screech and then Draco could hear thick choking as she attempted to speak.

Again, he debated what he should do. He glanced around to be certain he was alone. The choking sound was becoming quieter but then there was a loud thump and rasped breathing. Draco glanced at his watch and noted it was the time he was to see the Dark Lord. He frowned, unhappy to interrupt but realizing he could easily be blamed for the situation if he didn't step in now.

He cast a nonverbal silencing spell on his shoes and walked away from the door. When he was at the end of the hall, he ended the spell on his feet and walked quickly toward the door, rearranging his thoughts until he was thinking he was late and irritated about the situation with his subordinates taking time away from his weekend and not thinking at all about anything he had just heard and seen.

He knocked on the door just hard enough for it to swing open. He put on an air of irritation and jerked in surprise when he found Bellatrix LeStrange kneeling between the feet of the Dark Lord with her head in his lap, apparently helping him with a very specific problem using her mouth.

Draco's mouth curled in disgust and the Dark lord leered at him. Unfortunately, this was not the first time he had found Voldemort in the middle of fucking his aunt, in either body. It seemed to be a personal favorite activity for the Dark Lord to be caught in the act, especially by her relatives. At least there hadn't been enough time for the pair of them to rearrange the chair so Draco would be forced to actually _see_ the slick rod going in and out of Bellatrix's mouth. Draco had thrown up the first time that had happened. He hadn't been able to get an erection for a week after the first time he had found them mid coitus.

"Draco, oh yes, we had a meeting didn't we," The Dark Lord intoned blandly. He seemed to be pretending to be remorseful with his words but his voice sounded sarcastic.

"Yes My Lord," Draco responded. Draco felt the slimy fingers of Voldemort in his brain, searching for information for the briefest of moments.

"Well go on, then. Don't let dear little Bella distract you."

Draco swallowed the bile in the back of his throat. He said, "Craig and Sanders have gotten into a fight again. This time, it went beyond words. I want permission to punish them."

"Punish?" The Harry/Voldemort thing said as he ran a hand through his hair, groaning and closing his eyes in pleasure at whatever Bellatrix was doing to him. Then, without opening his eyes, he moved his arm so he could grip Bellatrix's head in the same hand and started roughly forcing her to take him harder and faster in her throat. She made sick gagging noises and the Voldemort creature seemed to find more pleasure in every noise. "KILL them," He grunted as he roughly pulled Bellatrix as close to his pelvic bone as he could.

Draco could feel himself near vomiting. That this creature had just orgasmed by thinking about Draco killing two of his…

"Now, if you're planning to stay, come stick it in your aunt's-"

"No thank you," Draco answered and then bowed. "I've work to do." He answered in a tone of finality. When he looked up, the Dark Lord dismissed him with a wave of his hand while he was dragging Bellatrix to sit on his lap. Draco turned and exited the room quickly. He walked as quickly as he could to the nearest lavatory, silenced the room and vomited until he had nothing left. He ran his hands under the cold water at the tap and rinsed out his mouth and then splashed the water onto his face.

He looked into the mirror at his own reflection for a moment, simply collecting his thoughts as he watched the water droplets following his cheekbones, beading on his nose and chin. He looked pale and sick. He needed to finish this. His body could not take much more of this stress. His mind couldn't take much more of the horrors the Dark Lord seemed to revel in.

He stood straight once more and dried his face and neck. Took the time to fix his collar. He looked a bit better. Smoothing a hand through his hair and examining himself he found it hard to find any emotion in his face but determination. Determination could be useful, especially when he had just been ordered to kill two of his own. He was determined. Determined to see this murder through so he could pass the information of it all along to the Order.

Draco gathered the required group of men and executed the sentenced men before them. He made some speech about how they had proven their disloyalty by fighting when they had been warned or some other such nonsense that he'd barely paid attention to. The troops were inspired and afraid in equal measure and so Draco knew he had done his job. Then had a few new recruits dispatch of the bodies.

The group looked tired. They had all been up all night because of all this madness and now enough time had passed that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Draco felt ill, still. He needed sleep and food and possibly a long walk or his violin to process all the stress of today but he could only have food at the moment. Yet food was repulsive after he had just murdered two people. Sure, they weren't exactly innocent youths, indeed they were loyalists to the Pureblooded cause, yet taking their lives felt disgusting to say the least. He decided to take a shower in the gym of the barracks of what used to be the Auror Department at the ministry.

The world didn't need the old Aurors according to Voldemort. So _He_ had ordered their offices and training facilities given to the more militarized Death Eaters which Draco was now a leader in. This had all been disguised as a reformation of the Wizarding police force by rebranding people like Draco as heroes and calling them Aurors. In no way were they otherwise similar to the previous honored men and women of the same title.

He hated wearing the title.

He had actually wanted to a be an Auror when he was a child. His father had become madly enraged when Draco had told him about it. A few years later, he finally understood that Lucius had been imprisoned _by Aurors_ so of course he would have lost his mind when his son had wanted to become one.

Draco's eyes wandered to his arms as he rinsed and he examined the tattoo which Granger had quizzed him on. Why _had_ she been sorted interested in the goings on of Voldemort? Was it so simple a task as an attempt to kill him off once and for all? Did she believe that Potter was still alive in there?

* * *

After what he had seen today, Draco knew for certain Potter was in there somewhere. He would need to tell Granger somehow. He couldn't tell her about the ministry official he had seen on the floor, but he might be able to tell her what he had seen. It could be important to figuring out how Voldemort had taken over the body and how best to kill him. When he finished bathing, he checked the barracks, approved an order for some new equipment, and went back to his office. He finished up his last signatures and put his paperwork on his desk to be filed by his secretary when she came back on Monday. A large yawn surprised him as he finished putting away his quills and he glanced at the clock. _36 hours almost. Time to get some sleep._

Friday evening for Hermione was spent just as Thursday had been. She was in a window seat overlooking the small yard of the little cottage she had first come to when she had arrived. She was supposed to be reading, but the falling snow had caught her eye and now the swirling flakes held her in fascinated gaze. For a rare bit of time, her mind was actually calm and quiet.

The quiet had actually been filled with soft music for more than half an hour before she noticed it. A distant violin finally broke through her calm and she looked around as she suddenly came back to herself.

 _Could that be Floppy? Or Malfoy?_ she wondered as she cautiously climbed down from her perch. She was a few doors down from her own set of rooms and around a corner, which she unashamedly looked around to check that the coast was clear. The hall was empty but the music was certainly coming from the off-limits west wing of the house. She whispered for Floppy, but the elf didn't appear. She tried again in as normal voice, but still, no elf showed herself. Hermione darted into her room for the only weapon she had come across, a letter opener which was almost as sharp as a dagger, before cautiously crossing into the forbidden half of the house. She didn't realize that she was half crouched with the weapon held out to her side in an attack pose. She did realize that she was utterly calm aside from the edge of nervousness she felt.

When a figure stepped into the hallway in front of her, Hermione suddenly found herself up against the wall behind a pillar with the knife held to her chest with no clear memory of having moved there. She took a slow breath in and peeked around the pillar cautiously.

There, in the hallway, was a pajama clad man who resembled Draco. He was walking slowly across the hallway and Hermione could just see part of his face. Most of the resemblance came from the blonde of his hair and something in the bridge of his nose.

The stranger shuffled across the hall and then directly into the wall as though he hadn't seen it. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt and then a stronger stab of pity, mixed with a desire to help the man. Before she could move, though, Floppy came from behind the man and quietly spoke while leading him back the way he had come. Hermione couldn't hear anything beyond the tone of Floppy's voice.

The music still filled the air and had grown louder as she had come this direction. She bit her lip as she tried to decide if she should find out where it was coming from or just go back to the east wing. That's the whole reason she had taken this risk to come down this way in the first place, after all.

She heard the door close behind Floppy and the man and had _just_ decided to go forward to try and find out when she heard the music stop. Then another door closed further away and she peeked around the pillar again to see Draco walking swiftly down the hallway with his shirt open and flapping behind him, still holding his violin and bow and frowning deeply. _One mystery solved_ Hermione thought as she tried to ignore the movement of his abdominal muscles as he walked.

He turned and walked into the room where the man had come from. Hermione felt safe enough to go back to her wing of the living quarters. But the questions of what could possibly be going on in this house swirled and held her mind more than even the falling snowflakes had before this whole endeavor had begun.

A/N: Thanks for the follows and favorites. I would love some reviews for this story... I haven't gotten any in a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Safely back in her rooms, Hermione shut the door softly and leaned heavily against it for a few moments, breathing rapidly and waiting out her adrenaline. Once her heartbeat began to slow, she closed her eyes and re-pictured the man she had seen stumbling through the hall. _It must have been Lucius. Who else could it have been? And Draco_ _ **did**_ _say that his father had been Kissed, not that he had been killed._ Hermione felt an unwelcome stab of pity in her once icy heart and frowned. She should not feel anything for that man. He was cruel and heartless and had pushed his family through the first war, only to barely make it back out alive. Then as soon as the opportunity arose, he was back into the same predicament, only this time he had dragged Draco into it and- _when did he become Draco?_ Hermione's inner voice whispered, interrupting her thoughts.

Hermione scowled to herself and a frustrated growl came from her chest. _Really? Is_ _ **that**_ _the most important thing about this scenario?_

In the past few years, that inner voice which had always driven her to perfection (mostly to shut the stupid voice up) had become a serious problem. Her previous therapist had initially worried she was delusional (even when Hermione hadn't mentioned the magical side of herself) until she had explained that she was certainly aware that the voice was her own, and it was the same part of herself that she used to solve problems and identify flaws in logic, only mercilessly pointed at herself. The therapist had nodded and explained it was likely a form of her anxiety and suggested that Hermione counter its arguments with her own. It hadn't helped. But it was just habit, sometimes.

That reminder of the stupid muggle therapist reminded Hermione to sit down at the table and write out what she had seen and experienced since going down the hall. It might help her to remember details when she tried to figure out who the man was later.

* * *

A loud crash startled Hermione out of the calm writing twenty minutes later. Malfoy was at the entrance to her rooms, looking around the room half crazed. His cheeks were red from what appeared to be exercise if his rapid breathing was any indication. He'd buttoned his shirt- thankfully- but Hermione noticed that he'd missed at least one button, making her suspect he had buttoned it while running. He saw her and said all in a rush, "Heredrinkthistheresnotimetoexplain!" and shoved a cup of what was likely Polyjuice potion into her hands. At her slight hesitation, Malfoy whispered "Now!" and she drank it. Within seconds, her limbs elongated and her hair straightened. Draco produced glasses from a pocket at the same moment that Hermione squinted because she couldn't see clearly. "Stay here. If the gods are good you won't see anyone and everything will be fine. Drink again every half hour until I return. Your name is Elaine. _Elaine_. Understand? You're my employee."

She nodded and he left in as much of a rush as he'd arrived.

Hermione breathed deeply, willing her racing heart to slow. She couldn't have a panic attack right then. She tried to focus on who Draco was having come to the house. Who she needed to hide from. What this meant for her safety. Did this change her plans? Should she try to send off a message to Ron? Did it have to do with the man Hermione had seen? Did Draco even know she had been out of her rooms?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She was supposed to be 'Elaine' so she focused as much of her mental energy into conforming to a role as she could. All of these questions and considerations couldn't be addressed until she had more information. She breathed out slowly. If she was polyjuiced, then she was safe for the moment. Draco had taken the the steps necessary to make sure she was not discovered. She opened her eyes again and felt relatively calm.

She closed the book in front of her. Another deep steadying breath later, she looked down at her clothes. If she were meant to be Malfoy's employee she would need to change.

For one thing, the clothes were now tight around her shoulders and too short, and for another, an employee of a high ranking Death Eater would _probably_ not wear muggle clothing. So Hermione stood and went to the closet, feeling off balance in her now longer limbs. She had to toe off her shoes within two steps, since 'Elaine's' toes were being pinched. She decided that 'Elaine' must be a more elegant woman than Hermione was, so she tried her best to remember to stand straight and walk softly as she had been taught when she was a child.

* * *

Two hours passed with Hermione anxiously straining to listen for footsteps coming down the hall or voices or anything but she suspected that Draco had put a silencing spell on her room just in case.

Luckily, the robes in her closet had been charmed to fit whomever wore them, so the luxurious robe of fine tan silk flowed over the tall frame of 'Elaine' as well as it would have fit Hermione's more petite form. Even the lingerie provided for her had done the same.

Hermione was very concerned that someone would come, not only because she didn't know what 'Elaine's' job was supposed to be, but more importantly because she only had her own wand with its trace on it, so if she needed to use magic, she would immediately be found out.

Time passed with Hermione trying to fend off the impending panic attack by every means she had at her disposal. Picking up her journal, unable to write because her thoughts were too chaotic. Trying to read. Drumming her fingers on the table. Going to the mirror and playing with long straight hair she'd always dreamed of, laughing at herself shakily when she realized she already missed her own hair. Counting her breaths. Making up potions in her head.

She had been pacing to rid herself of the shaking in her limbs when a knock sounded on the door again.

With her heart in her throat, she went to the door and opened it to reveal Draco Malfoy, looking his normal proper self, but tired.

He gave her a wan smile in greeting. "Granger. Can I come in?"

Hermione poked her head out and looked to either side of the door, feeling ridiculous. "Don't worry," Draco said relaxing slightly, "He's gone. I only had you disguised on the off chance that _anything_ might have happened. He was here… to see to a patient." Draco sighed and gave her that wan smile again.

Hermione scrutinized his face for a brief moment, looking for any hint of deception and when she didn't find any, she opened the door and nodded.

Draco passed her, called out for tea, and held the chair Hermione had been occupying for her to sit in. With a bare hesitation, Hermione sat and poured the tea, expecting he was about to explain what was going on.

"I had intended to come speak to you earlier this evening, but time had gotten the best of me before this… incident came up." Draco began as he took the cup from her. He added his sugar while he debated what he ought to tell her about the Healer who had just come as well as the whole mess that had happened with his aunt and her former friend's body just this afternoon. When the whole mess was just too much for him to figure out he instead asked, "Have you had dinner yet?"

Hermione blinked, "What?"

"Dinner. Generally the last meal one eats in a day? I'm quite certain you're familiar with it, given it was a part of our school day."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "No, as it happens, I was instructed to drink polyjuice with no context and, you know, spent the last hour panicking and sort of forgot that food was even necessary for my existence to continue. Will you please just tell me what's going on?" She immediately regretted using the word panic, but he seemed to have missed it.

"Floppy," Draco called instead of answering her.

The little elf appeared, "Master?"

"Dinner in ten. Dining hall."

Floppy nodded, answered, "Yes sir," And popped out of the room.

"How long until your dose wears off? I don't trust this face," Draco said with a gesture at Hermione's- well 'Elaine's'- face.

Hermione snorted. "It's the one you gave me you ponce." She glanced at the clock and then said, "About a minute or so."

"Good. 'Elaine' will have to be your disguise if anything like this happens again. I've enough polyjuice prepared for it to be effective I believe."

"Nothing like this was expected." Hermione answered. "Should it be expected in the future?"

"No," Draco answered. He looked away suddenly with a grimace. "It's repulsive watching you change back."

Hermione reached up and felt her once long silky black hair beginning to curl and turn its normal boring brown again. She looked at her hand and saw the color of her skin changing back to its normal color too. She took off the glasses, only remembering them when her head started to hurt. Once she had shrunk back to her normal height, the clothes seemed to shrink around her suddenly to the correct size. "You're such a ponce," she said.

He looked back at her with a quip on the tip of his tongue and the momentary hesitation was unexpected and confusing. He'd forgotten the unsettled feeling that looking at her brought to him. He cleared his throat instead of insulting her back. "That color is quite becoming on you." He heard himself blurt out and instead of allowing her the chance to sputter a response while he blushed and berated himself for speaking at all, he stood and offered a hand, "Dinner, Granger. We have things to discuss."

Another hesitation, then she took his hand, but a million questions were clamoring for her attention. _What the hell was with him?!_ was probably the biggest one which her mind was screaming. She stopped before leaving the room and pulled out her wand from a cleverly disguised pocket in her robes.

Before Draco could analyze the strange feeling of missing her hand, he turned to find a wand pointing at his face. Looking to the owner of said wand, he saw Hermione squinting suspiciously at him. Then, she demanded, "What is this? Are you Imperioed? Are you polyjuiced? Give me your safeword!"

"Willow bark, Granger." He answered calmly.

She lowered her wand and looked at him closely. "What the hell is with you?"

He sighed and flexed his hand in irritation. The hand which had been broken not long before she came to stay with him. "I'm tired Granger. I've not slept in nearly two days. Things are happening. I don't think I can play this 'Who's the smartest ant in the hill' game. Can we please just go eat then I can tell you this insanity and then we can go our separate ways again?"

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, and stowed her wand back. "Should we have Ron come? So he can bring the information back to the Order?"

Draco gestured for them to start to walk. He answered, "Not yet. I don't know what this will change. Let's discuss it and then you can make the report if you need to. I don't want to deal with Weasel anymore than necessary."

Hermione rolled her eyes and started down the stairs ahead of him. At the first landing, she looked carefully around in case of an intruder, even after having heard his safeword. She still didn't trust him.

Draco saw her doing so, and rolled his own eyes in an unconscious mimic of her expression. She led the way down to the first floor and they walked silently to the dining room, where Floppy had laid out an option of beef cutlets in brown gravy or an already carved chicken smothered in mushrooms and a buttery cream sauce which smelled of heaven. Hermione and Draco both went for the chicken and shared a brief awkward glance of acknowledgement when their serving forks collided on the platter when they reached for the same piece. Draco, being the gentleman he was born to be, chose another piece and left the thigh for the lady and guest.

They were both ravenous and they ate in an awkward silence for a time. Draco finally broke the quiet sounds of their forks and knives on the china by saying, "I see it began to snow this evening."

Hermione swallowed and answered, "Yes, It's quite lovely. I had found a small window seat near my rooms and I was watching it snow."

A small fleeting smile crossed Draco's face when he pictured her curled up in the window seat she referred to and watching it snow. Thankfully she had not been looking at him. He didn't know what to say. Small talk was never really his strong suit. "Had it snowed… er.. where you were before?"

Hermione glanced at his face again, understanding that he was trying to make civil conversation. Probably that meant that he had something unpleasant to tell her, or his infernal hyperpoliteness had decreed they couldn't discuss anything serious over dinner. _Great._ "Yes," She answered. "It had snowed the first night I came here."

"I see," He answered. Then that awkward silence settled over the table again as Hermione bit into a roasted carrot. Draco tried his best not to analyze her behavior. He knew she would be put off her meal by some details of the story, and he knew enough about her to know it would be a mistake to spare her the details to save her appetite. "What were you reading?" He asked, finally.

She glanced at him. He was avoiding her gaze. It seemed at odds with his ingrained politeness. _Shouldn't he be feigning interest?_ "I found an old copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ the other day, and I was working my way through them as a way to unwind."

He glanced up at the name of the book, looking immediately into her eyes and regretting it at once. He felt like she read his entire consciousness in one glance. The book was his own, and a favorite of his childhood. He had fond memories of his mother, lit in early afternoon sunlight, the rays of the sun picking up a thousand hidden shades of blonde in her hair, reading to him before his nap. He felt the memories as though they were a physical weight in his mind. He had no idea how sad and alone he looked, even with a ghost of a smile as the memories all rushed through him.

Hermione saw, and it made her wonder.

"This chicken is quite good," She said. It was difficult for her to change the subject but something about the expression on his face was like walking in on him naked. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing for both of them. Mostly it was uncomfortable to see because it made her rethink him in a way that bordered dangerously on attractive. _Just because he has emotions doesn't make him interesting,_ She reminded herself.

"Quite," He answered, glad for the respite. He didn't want to think on any of this. He didn't want to be weak from a lack of sleep. He didn't want her to see him in any kind of a weakened state. She shouldn't know he was remotely vulnerable. "The mushrooms were a nice touch I think."

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Finally, Draco asked if she was finished eating, and if she would like to go to the sitting room to discuss things. _Finally_ , Hermione thought.

When they entered the room, Hermione mentally shook herself. She needed answers and she needed them now. How she let him get away with the whole meal without saying anything was still a mystery, but she didn't intend to go any longer without knowing what was going on. "Now," She began as he poured himself a whiskey from the cart near the large fireplace dominating the room. "Tell me what happened."

Draco sighed dramatically while picking the decanter back up and measuring out a third finger of whiskey. " _He_ knows you're 'dead'." He began, turning and putting his hand in his pocket as he spoke.

Hermione had just been taking her seat when Draco said this and she immediately sat forward. "How do you know? What was his reaction? Did there seem to be any-"

Draco held out a hand. "Wait. Let me explain." He slipped his hand back into his pocket and leaned against the mantel. She bit her lip and waited instead of responding. He wanted to flat out explain where he had been and why Voldemort was there and all of it, but heat flared in his chest and his tongue felt leaden. Draco let out a frustrated growl, "By the gods, I wish I could just plainly speak!" He sighed again. "He must have just found out when I had an appointment. Someone must have just told him. I found… _He_ was choking himself. Do you understand me?"

Hermione stood, her hand going to her own throat. "Was he speaking?"

Draco nodded. "Potter is still in there." He confirmed, for clarity's sake and regretting it immediately when Hermione's face wavered in her grief. She sat back down heavily and held out a hand in a silent command to wait for her to regain her composure and Draco had a mad urge to embrace her. He took a drink instead and pretended the urge hadn't been there.

Hermione's mind was whirling. It was one thing to suspect he was still in there but to _know_ was apparently important distinction. So many questions and no time to think on them now. She shoved the emotions and questions to the back of her mind and worked to slow her heartbeat. She took measured breaths and ignored the tears threatening. Now was not the time. When she felt more in control a moment later, she cleared her throat before saying, "We will have to save that conversation for another time. For now, let's focus on the more immediate problem of why I was forced to take polyjuice."

"Ah. That."

"Yes. _That_. Now, what did you mean 'he was here to see to a patient'?"

Draco took his hand out of his pocket and unbuttoned his coat with the same hand as he took his seat. "Granger, there's a lot you don't know about this house. About me… My family."

She snorted, "Obviously."

He shot a glare at her. "One of them is that my father is still alive."

She tried to act as surprised as she could. "I-he-what?!" She sputtered.

" _He_ had my father Kissed. His soul was eaten. A man can live a long time with no soul. He's a husk of a human now…" Draco cleared his throat, uncomfortable with giving her the information no one, save himself and the highest ranking Order members were aware of. "He lives in the West wing, you see. My mother passed a year ago. Father seems to be headed the same way."

Hermione shifted in her seat, unsure how she was supposed to react. If he were her friend, she would be comforting him, and the urge to do so was strong. She couldn't think of anything to say except, "Draco, I'm so sorry, is there… can I do anything to help?"

He had been looking into his glass while speaking. When she responded, he felt the heat of tears near his eyes. Amazed that this standard response was enough to make him want to... To accept her help. He shook his head instead. "It's inevitable that he will pass. He can't even speak any longer. Tonight, he had a stroke. The healer says they're rare in magical bloodlines, but not unheard of." He shrugged. "It probably has to do with not having a soul, who knows." He drank the rest of his firewhiskey and winced at the burn.

"Well, then." Hermione said awkwardly.

"Indeed."

"On a less painful topic, who is 'Elaine'? Should we have a story in case of emergencies?" Hermione asked.

With a chuckle and a smirk, Draco answered, "She was just some muggle woman I passed in the street once."

"How.. did… you know what, I don't even want to know. Let's think of a back story so I'll be prepared if I need to be." Hermione answered, tiredly. Silence was better than this, but only marginally. There was so much to dissect and understand and so many emotions to deal with and…. Hermione sighed. _And this is only the beginning of this madness._

 _A/N:_ I'm very sorry I haven't been updating. I'm going through a particularly bad depressive episode and I haven't been inspired at all to write. I've decided to make this a monthly updated story, instead of weekly for the time being, until I get through this.

I hope you all have a happy holiday season.


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later, Hermione was reclining in the bath and trying to take a full breath. The scents surrounding her promoted relaxation and the bubbles felt nice against her skin, but her mind was a whirling cacophony. Her chest had been tight for what felt like hours while she had been trapped in her room while polyjuiced and then through her dinner with Malfoy and then the constriction had furthered the more he had told her about the happenings of the day.

Harry was still trapped inside of Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy was a soulless man who lived here in the same house… where Hermione could not perform magic to protect herself.

She tried another a deep breath.

Her life had been in an upheaval for so long that all this new information should have been managed by what was already a fairly solid coping mechanism of meditation, breathing exercises, and an extraordinarily tight control over her emotions. Instead, she had nearly collapsed beneath the added pressure of the new knowledge while Malfoy had looked on with that cold and indifferent mask on his face.

Then she had spent an indeterminate amount of time trying to breathe in the bath to try to process the information.

Harry, who she had made as much peace with having died when Voldemort seized control of his body as she could, was not dead. Voldemort was keeping the sweet young man who had been like a brother to Hermione trapped within his mind.

Tears pricked her eyes when she started realizing that Voldemort might have made Harry watch while he did unspeakable acts in the name of… what? Sadism? Corruption? Power? What _was_ Voldemort's aim in keeping him alive? To _gloat_? No, it couldn't possibly be something so stupid. Surely such a brilliant mind- for Tom Riddle was brilliant, despite his Darkness- would have more reason to keep a prisoner inside his mind than simple vanity.

Hermione finally took a deep breath and tried to focus. His motivations needed to be understood, surely, but at the moment, she needed to try to understand if the living mind of the host body gave her any indication of what exactly Voldemort _was_ and how she could expel him from Harry's body.

( _Fleur and Bill's presents)_

A whisper of a memory flitted behind her thoughts and Hermione frowned. _What was that?_ She tried to find the thought, hunting through the layers of memory and couldn't find it. Something… maybe about Fleur? Why would she have come to mind when Hermione was thinking about _Voldemort_ was it's own mystery and she was more confused. There must have been some connection.

Was it important?

Hermione wasn't sure.

It certainly _felt_ like there was something there.

Shaking her head and picking up her sponge, Hermione decided she would have more time to think about it later. Pressing herself to remember something like that probably wouldn't bring it back. She had so many things to dissect about the conversation with Malfoy, anyway.

( _Back to Malfoy are we?)_

With a grimace, Hermione began scrubbing her skin.

Lucius had suffered a stroke.

 _(He was still alive_ )

Draco had kept the truth of his father from her.

Why had he kept it from her? Protection? Did he believe he was protecting her? Lucius? Himself? What even was Draco Malfoy's plan in this whole debacle anyway? Did he just plan to go from being a Death Eater to being a normal wizard? Would they try him for his activities in these last five years? Or longer, even. He'd been a Death Eater for two years before she had fled Britain.

( _Harry)_

What had he been doing for this long? How did he even get to his position? Was there some way Hermione could get a better understanding of how this Voldemort power structure worked?

It seemed like there were people all throughout the government who were loyalists to Voldemort, and those who weren't were made to do the bidding on the majority. But…. Were they doing _his_ bidding by choice? How would she even know? How could so many people be turned to this madman's beliefs? There had to be some kind of magic at work here. At least some of these people must have been Imperioed. But who? And _by_ whom?

( _How is Harry alive?_ )

Draco seemed to believe that Voldemort might have a lower magical ability. And Hermione doubted that anyone could hold more than ten people under the Imperius curse at once. Some of the decisions she had seen handed down by the ministry, even with the approval of the Wizengamot, had been so abhorrent… she just could not accept that a majority of the politicians were in favor of these kinds of things. There had to be people Imperioed. There just had to be.

Draco wasn't though.

He had been working for Voldemort for a long time, knowing that Voldemort was evil.

How could Hermione explain that?

( _Fleur)_

He didn't seem to be evil. Maybe…. He could be rude, that was for sure. And cruel. That she knew from her childhood. But it had always been _Harry_ who believed Draco Malfoy to be evil, not Hermione. Maybe it was just one small piece of herself she knew wasn't eroded away after all this time. She still believed the best in people. Or as in Malfoy's case…. She refused to believe the worst in people.

She was just not sure… was this bright rediscovery of her unbreakable nugget of herself like a ray of sunshine through the fog bank or a curse flying through darkness? She might never be able to tell.

( _Harry would know_ )

Maybe it was enough to be grateful for the old part of herself showing itself through the darkness. Maybe the old Hermione wasn't as dead as she had thought.

She sighed, deciding that was enough melodrama now.

He'd seemed so strange this evening. Who would have ever thought? Draco Malfoy, confusing. But there it was. A study in contradictions, that was Draco. Complimentary one second and closed off the next. An open book which slammed shut as soon as she glanced at it. So unlike every interaction she'd had so far with him. She was used to him being merely polite but with an unexpected sense of humor about him when the mood struck.

There had been no humor about him today.

At some point, she would need to get more information about this world from him. She just needed to figure out how best to speak to him. That's why she needed to figure him out. And why was that mental declaration a relief?

She shook her head in irritation. Why was there was such a large part of her dedicated to analyzing his every move after every interaction they have?

Tonight, in making their… plans for the 'Elaine' character she would use for emergencies, he had been… useful. He had a tactical mind. He had thought of some scenarios she had not considered.

Maybe she was just too used to being on her own.

At any rate, 'Elaine', they decided, would be the live-in caretaker of Lucius. That would explain why she was new, since Lucius only had the stroke that evening. The Healer had even mentioned potentially hiring someone to take care of Lucius, as the elves- who had been his oldest and most faithful servants- had not been able to understand what was wrong with Lucius. The healer also believed that Lucius could have another stroke in the future, so having a caretaker was a good idea.

"Don't actually go in the West Wing, Granger. My father can be prone to acts of violence and random bursts of magic." Draco had warned her when they began discussing this potential cover story. Hermione readily agreed, unwilling to ever see Lucius again. Even at a distance he had scared her badly.

And here again, Draco had seemed… almost sympathetic, even a little concerned.

( _Draco again?_ )

But she still didn't quite know what to make of it.

 _(Maybe he's just as confused as you are)_

Well that was a thought. Maybe he _was_ just as uncertain of how to speak to her. Which was it's own relief. That maybe she was not so alone in this confusion. Awkwardness, she had expected. Not confusion. She had assumed he would just… well, actually she had not spared Malfoy a thought when setting up her return to the magical world. It had been dropped in her lap on the night she had met with Ron. She would never have expected him to have turned to the Light. Not after how things had been in Hogwarts. She had expected him to be exactly what he was in the eyes of the Dark. A high ranking Death Eater who was eager to root out non-believers. Like he had been with Umbridge and her ridiculous tattle telling club.

What she had expected was to be placed in a safe house on her own. Or at least with a female handler. The Order had always been so proper before she had run. And now, they put her with not only a male, but a spy, and _Malfoy_ to boot. How strange this all was.

Hermione dunked her hair into the water to rinse out the conditioner while she listened to her brain rattle on with connections and expectations and plans. It was rare that she just let her mind roam where it would. But tonight she had far too much to think about to try and keep it all contained.

But the steady flow of ramblings in her mind stopped suddenly with an image of Molly Weasley ordering get the three of them to stop what they were doing and help her sort presents.

 _Where the hell…?_

Ghouls.

Molly bursting through the door.

And shining through the dim memory, her own voice.

" _If I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all…"_

What in the world had they been talking about? Why was it coming to mind now?

* * *

Draco checked in on his father, reassuring himself that the drug induced slumber was at least a comfortable one. He clicked the door shut with a quick glance down the hall toward Granger's room which he didn't think about. His mind was elsewhere. He padded down the hall to perform his nightly bathing routine before he could finally _finally_ have the night off.

Coming to the chateau had always been a relief. It was a private residence where he could actually feel completely safe with his thoughts and plans. This was meant to be a long weekend for him, but he had already been called back to deal with those idiots in the barracks and they'd gotten themselves killed in the end. He hadn't had any time to relax yet. In his room here was the only place where he allowed himself the luxury of indulging in his more… clandestine interests.

Tonight he had much to think about, though. He opened the door to the most private area of his life and smiled. He ignored the numerous distractions he had acquired over the years and instead turned on the taps for the tub. He gathered his clothing and shaving accessories while the tub filled.

His thoughts wandered to what he had discovered during the day. Perhaps, now that they knew Potter lived, Herm- _Granger_ would be more invested. What he had seen out of her so far had been… not what he had expected. He thought she would have thrown herself into the research and have an answer within days, by the way the Order talked about her.

But she hadn't. It had been a few days and Floppy had given him the impression she was more interested in reading old copies of the Prophet than in researching Potter's condition. And she had even told him she was reading fairy tales, too. What was she even doing?

She seemed lost.

Maybe she had given into the logical assumption that she should run. Cowardice didn't seem to be in her. A growing suspicion that something was wrong with her mind pulled at his thoughts again. Something seemed to be weighing on her so heavily she seemed almost unable to function. The suspicion was all but a certainty now as he relaxed tight muscles in the water.

Her body language screamed tension any time the realities of the world came into conversation.

 _Just needs to figure this shite out is all. I don't care about her mind. Just so long as it works for the problem at hand._ He reminded himself.

Voldemort had possibly made a mistake in letting Potter stay alive. That was the real issue that he was not focusing on. Voldemort had left the soul of his enemy still living inside of him. Would it weaken him? He would try to ask Granger about it after she had some time to think about it. If he was vague enough in the question, maybe she would figure out how they could get around the bloody secrecy spells. He certainly hadn't had much luck. Though… some of the information seemed to be less closely guarded. Maybe he could… if he tried telling her about certain things, maybe they could find a pattern to the most heavily guarded subjects. That might reveal what Voldemort wanted most desperately to remain a secret. Maybe he would have to talk to her more than he really wanted to. _Tomorrow. I'll talk to her tomorrow._

Finally, with that decision in mind, he rinsed himself and dressed in loose navy colored sleep pants and a white tee shirt.

He felt cleaner, physically, but his conscience was beginning to croak it's nightly blabbering.

What kind of a person was he? Couldn't he have gotten those two out instead of killing them? How many would he have to kill before this was all over? What else could he be doing? And using Granger like this was probably not right as well. What would his mother have said? Shouldn't he be doing more to help the Order's cause? What else could he do to bring this to an end? How much more humiliation would he have to endure?

He had been heading toward his bed, but found his feet going toward the door, a half realized decision to check the house before retiring unquestioned while his thoughts continued swarming.

Fuzzy plans and snippets of probable conversations started buzzing in his head as he stalked down the hall. He paused and checked on his father once more before continuing down the stairs, again glancing at Granger's door without realizing he had done so.

He listened to the buzzing thoughts as he walked, checking doors and windows as though he were a common muggle and not an accomplished and high ranking Death Eater.

A powerful wizard was probably better to think of himself as. Maybe he ought to start dropping the Death Eater shtick in his head in the foreseeable future. It was advantageous, but he could feel Voldemort's power beginning to wane. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Better to get ahead of the fallout.

Something about checking the locks made him feel more secure than doing it all by magic could have done.

Before he went back, he walked to the kitchen for a glass of water, again unsure of why he was doing things without the aid of magic. He could have easily just transfigured a glass upstairs.

 _I'm just feeling weird with another presence in the house. That's all._

The sound of a footstep had him pressed against the wall, still as a shadow and barely breathing.

Another step, coming from the stairway. He was near a deeper shadow, and he sidestepped into it smoothly, making only the barest rustle of fabric as he moved.

And then there she was, dressed in a short nightdress, bare shouldered and braiding her hair as she walked quietly down the hallway. She wasn't looking around or interested in anything but the braid in her hands. She was trying to get a small knot out or something. Draco watched her pass, unaware of his presence.

By the end of the hallway, she threw the braid over her shoulder and pushed open the door to the kitchen, apparently to get her own glass of water.

Draco fled.

He went as swiftly and silently back to his own safe room as he could, unable to shake the memory of her pale and freckled shoulders from his mind. Her long neck exposed as she had her head turned away from him. The little curls at the base of her mass of hair. The soft, unguarded expression gracing her delicate features.

Draco closed the door and took a deep breath.

She had startled him.

His adrenaline kicked in.

Every detail was from his adrenaline spike.

It happened in battle too.

That was all.

No big deal.

Totally normal.

But then… why had he fled?

* * *

Morning dew clung to withering grasses and leaves in the pre-dawn hour. Silence and stillness of the wood was disturbed by a loud crack of apparition. Where once three teenagers camped stood just one. No longer a teenager and bleeding into the small frozen creek bed, Harry Potter looked around himself wildly. He needed to send his letter. He needed to get word. He needed-

His weakened body collapsed, blood dotting the leaves and frozen creek below him. A flutter of wings made him look up.

A small brown owl sat next to him, head cocked to the side. It seemed to be asking him what kind of a fool he was. He reached out a hand to the bird and it allowed him to scratch it below the chin, just like Hedwig so long ago. Harry took a chance.

He said, "I need you to find Ron Weasley. Any one of the Weasley's, it doesn't matter which one. Please. I can't-" a shudder passed over him as the sleeping bit of soul within him stirred. "I don't have much time. Please. Find them." He held out a scrap of paper.

A tense moment passed in which the owl stared unblinkingly at Harry's face and then the owl hesitantly took the letter in its beak.

Harry sighed gratefully and watched the bird take flight. Then he gripped the wand which wanted nothing to do with him and pictured the place he had been at before.

The crack of his apparition startled a doe awake from where she had been sleeping, curled around her fawn for warmth. When she heard the 'safe' huff of her buck from where he lay a little further away, she was calmed.

She was protected.


	9. Chapter 9

Trigger warning: Panic attack, from third person perspective, I tried very hard so it _shouldn't_ be triggering, I hope. But just in case.

* * *

When the dawn broke the next morning on the chateau, Hermione was deeply asleep. She was dreaming of Harry and Ron back in their Hogwarts days, when they were all smaller and happier and healthier. A small smile was gracing her lips when the dawn light began to filter into the room.

On the other side of the Chateau, Draco woke with the sunrise as he always did. He took his time getting dressed and exiting his room. A quick check on his father showed the elder Malfoy laying in the catatonic fashion he tended to default into after one of his fits.

Again, he found himself checking how secured the building was manually on his way to the breakfast nook his mother so favored when they vacationed here. That had been so long ago, Draco barely registered the half formed memory of her sitting in the dawn light as he stepped into the room. His coffee and scone were prepared already, along with the disgusting array of potions he needed to imbibe.

He sat down and looked out the tall window onto the back garden. A cardinal flitted through the snow, bright red against the fresh snow. A moment later, his mate came behind, brown and forgettable by comparison. Draco found this somehow amusing as he watched the pair pecking at the exposed dirt under some bushes.

He turned his attention to his potions. The first three were to be taken on an empty stomach, then he could eat his scone to finish up the last two with food in his system. Five swallows to keep his… condition controlled. He took the first three as he considered the day ahead. His plan to attempt to let Granger in on some more information she wouldn't be privy to through her other available options presented its own set of challenges. He would need to work around the secrecy spells.

Which he had tried before.

Which had failed before.

He sighed and took another sip of his coffee. His eyes focused outside, seeking the cardinal pair again, simply liking the way their little bodies brought so much color against the snow and wanting a second look.

A woman's scream jolted him from his seat and sent him running to find Granger. His shoes lost their grip slightly when he reached the stairs and he almost fell. He grabbed the banister roughly and launched himself up, desperately thinking- maybe belatedly- that he needed to remain quiet. That he couldn't cry out when he used too much force with his arm and a jolt of pain ran through his shoulder. That sacrificing a little speed was worth it for an approach an unknown situation in minimal sound.

Cautiously, Draco looked around at the landing in the library and saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no feeling at this discovery beyond a ratcheting up of his anticipation. He twisted around to continue the climb.

He could hear a man's voice speaking in a soft, gentle, he might even go so far as to say _reassuring_ manner as he reached the base of the last flight of stairs. Draco, ignoring the confusion, pulled his wand and began sneaking up, murder on his tongue, before recognizing the voice of his father's Healer.

He didn't put his wand away.

His mind rearranged itself to a different strategy as he lifted his foot to the first step. He silently climbed, the words becoming clearer as he went.

"I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm not here to harm you. Try to breathe into your stomach. The short breaths won't make you feel better. I'm unarmed. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm a Healer. Just keep trying to breathe into your stomach. You'll feel better in a moment. Breathe."

Draco paused before his position would be revealed and as he realized that the Healer must have surprised Hermione. He could hear her gasps as she tried to breathe, even from here. Perhaps she was having a panic attack.

Draco blinked.

That explained a lot.

Different options ran through his mind. Finally after an eternity consisting of two seconds, he decided. "Granger?" he said, trying not to frighten and probably failing at it. "I don't want to startle you. I'm coming up the stairs." Then he took the next step up and saw Granger huddled in a corner near her room with a knife and an expression of sheer terror. She was gasping for each breath. Her other had was pressed into her diaphragm. Draco absurdly focused on how the gasps made the tendons in her neck stand out in sharp detail. How the color had been drained out of her face. How she looked more frightened than he could ever have imagined her to be.

Then her eyes were on him instead of the Healer. He never wanted her to look at him like that again. He spoke softly, ignoring his thoughts. "Granger. I can confirm he's a healer. He was here yesterday when my father collapsed."

"Name" she gasped, pointing the knife slightly less aggressively when she said it. Or was that Draco's imagination?

"His name is Healer-"

"NAME" Hermione said more forcefully, " _M-My_ -name! You" -gasp- "Idiot."

 _Shit_ Draco thought. He definitely didn't bite back a harsh bark of surprised laughter.

"It's alright, Miss Granger. I'm with the Order. I knew you were here already." The Healer said in that same comforting voice. "Try to concentrate on your breathing. Into your stomach, not into your chest. It _will_ help, I swear."

"My father is on the other side of the hall," Draco said pointing at his father's door, his tone accusing. "What are you doing? You weren't called for."

"One of the elves told me your father was awake. I was coming to check on his condition. I surprised the poor girl as she was exiting her room, I assume." The Healer answered blandly.

The extreme pallor on Granger's face was being replaced by her normal coloring slowly as she kept trying to breathe into her diaphragm as the Healer suggested, Draco noticed. "Granger, where did you get that?" He asked, nodding to the knife and noticing her tendons weren't so pronounced as she breathed.

"Kitchen," She answered, not sounding _quite_ so breathy. "Last night." Her hand moved from over her stomach to her heart as she said this and she finally looked to be relaxing. She leaned her head back against the wall after a moment.

Draco watched her close her eyes and then asked the Healer, "Don't suppose you've got a calming draught in that bag of yours, do you?"

"It wouldn't help, unfortunately," The healer answered and then looked at Hermione. "When you're ready, make sure to have tea or water and something to eat. You're used to the aftermath, I presume?"

She nodded and Draco looked between them, confused. Her breathing was mostly back to normal and her cheeks were regaining their color. "Have you sought treatment? You were in the muggle world, I'd wager. Did you try the pills they have?"

"Didn't really work well," She answered, subtly looking at Draco. Even Draco caught the hint that she didn't want him to ask too many questions while Draco was there.

The Healer nodded and then turned to Draco. "I'll see him and give Miss Granger some time to get some food and tea or water. I'd like to give you a quick examination if you're not against it, Mr. Malfoy. See how well your own treatment is coming along."

 _This idiot has the subtlety of a train wreck._ "Fine." He answered flatly.

The Healer left and Hermione and Draco looked at each other for a split second before awkwardness set in. "Er… Are you feeling better?" Draco asked stiffly.

"A bit," Hermione answered before looking down at her attire and pulling her dressing gown together. "I uh… I'm sorry." She muttered, looking away and debating getting up.

Draco took a step closer and offered a hand, "For what?"

She looked at his hand, his face, then his hand again before deciding to accept the help standing. "Startling you. Making a big deal of it all… You know. This whole situation," She answered as she stood shakily.

"No need. Seems a perfectly reasonable response, to be frank. That ponce suggested food and water, shall I escort you downstairs?"

Hermione stared for a moment, too many emotions rolling through her overtaxed mind.

Draco saw the confusion and said as un-awkwardly as he could, "You were coming out of your room to go to the kitchen anyway, weren't you? I was having my own breakfast when I heard you scream."

"OH. Oh. I understand. Um. I suppose it would be um… maybe I should get dressed. I didn't think you were awake this early so…" She looked down at her dressing gown and pulled it tighter around her.

Accepting the request for distance for what it was, Draco nodded and answered, "Then I will wait here for you. Healer Davis would be put out if I were to not make sure you were properly fed."

Hermione looked into his eyes for a second before nodding once and going back into her room. She dressed quickly in muggle jeans and a soft sweater, finding comfort in the fluffy warmth. Then she tried not to be weirded out as she walked to the door. Malfoy was being nice again. He was probably going to treat her like others had done in the past once she had a panic attack near them, like she would shatter in a moment. It was insulting. She couldn't control the broken part of her brain. Her adrenaline wasn't under her control, just the same as anyone else for Merlin's sake! She just reacted differently. She huffed at the thought, standing in front of the door.

 _It was easier when I was on my own_ , she reflected bitterly. _Didn't have to worry about the panic attacks. I shouldn't have let him see. Will he use it against me?_ She stared at the door, willing it to rewind the clock by half an hour. Wanting to not have the memory of her brandishing a kitchen knife in her pajamas in anyone's mind. Knowing it would be replaying in her mind for weeks and making her embarrassed every bloody time. It would be connected to Malfoy, too. So she could reasonably expect it to replay every time she thought of him, too. "Fuck it," She growled and grabbed the door, seeing the desperate grasp at normalcy of her action, the desperate attempt to stop the thoughts tumbling around through the sudden motion, for what it was. But what other choice did she have but to grasp at normalcy in this pathetic life of hers which took one look at normalcy and laughed?

Draco flinched at the door opening, his own impulse to grasp his wand in case of attack registered and forced down to the depths of his mind, refusing to acknowledge the reaction. Granger still looked pale, he noted as soon as he saw her. A quick stock of her attire and facial expression revealed her fear etched in the fine wrinkles around her eyes and probable attempt to find comfort through softness in her clothing choices. He noted this for further use if he should need it, offered her a nod as he stood at attention again, then gestured silently toward the stair. He kept his analysis brief and his expression blank, not wanting to further her distress by giving an indication he felt anything after her panic attack.

Hermione felt stiff. She was painfully aware of her every movement and trying to ignore the awkwardness of it. _Fucking Malfoy_ she thought bitterly, _Why did Malfoy have to see it?_ She wished again for a time turner. For a memory charm to be cast. For anything that would stop her from having to deal with all this anxiety she had to deal with now. She reached the stairs and focused on the carefully shined wood below her fingertips.

"My mother would be cross with me to know I didn't take your arm, you know." Malfoy said from beside her. "Given I'm your escort. Though I hope you'll forgive me the lack of propriety."

"Of course," She responded, sounding slightly hoarse, and not at all sure why she should forgive him for anything.

"The last time I had a panic attack, someone tried to touch me and it felt awful," He continued quietly, ignoring her shocked gaze suddenly turning to him. "I imagine it would be the same for you."

She nodded and returned her gaze to the steps in front of her, then realizing he probably missed the movement said, "Yes. It's very unpleasant. How long have you..?"

"Since Hogwarts. I had a mission I was failing and they began then."

 _Short answers. Probably doesn't want to talk about it._ "Why were you awake so early? I thought you were off work for a short time."

"I sleep badly, Granger." They had reached the base of the stairs and Draco glanced at her to reassure himself she was alright without thinking and caught her in a becoming beam of sunlight before he looked away again, uncomfortable. "I've had scones prepared for myself, would you like anything specific? Of course you're welcome to anything," Draco asked automatically as he showed her to the breakfast table.

"Just some toast and jam, I think," She said. They appeared in her place across from Malfoy and she cleared her throat. "A cup of tea would be nice too, please." And they appeared just as quickly, She sat, ignoring the half motion Malfoy made from beside her to probably pull out her chair.

Malfoy tried to cover the move by sitting himself and trying to ignore the improper manners he was showing this morning. Ignoring his younger self sneering at him to want to pull out a chair for the _mudblood_ for Merlin's sake.

They ate quietly, Hermione looking at the frozen stillness outside and Draco studying the paper he'd neglected before his mad rush upstairs. He offered it to her after a moment of staring blankly at his stock holdings and she shook her head silently.

They both looked toward the door when they heard the footsteps of the healer coming down the stairs. He cleared his throat as he approached, though Draco was certain his mother had heard him approach and she had been dead for years now.

The Healer entered with a friendly smile. Hermione only noticed now that he was pudgy, balding, and bespeckled middle aged man who may have been something unassuming like a grocer in the Muggle world. Though he did have that slightly manic look of an unsatisfiable curiosity Hermione associated with Mr. Weasley. How in the world she had been so scared by him was a mystery to her. Her memory of the incident was becoming a bit fuzzy, as they always were. Not because she was trying to forget anything, but because her brain was trying to protect her from the pain, she had read once. Hermione gave him a tense smile in return.

He flicked his wrist and a light purple mist appeared between herself and Malfoy. "Privacy screen, Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy cannot hear us." Hermione nodded her understanding "You've eaten, good. Had some tea or water I hope?" He asked and Hermione nodded. "Good. Still tense?" Hermione shook her head. "Chest soreness? Back pain? Anything like that?"

"No." Hermione said. "Just tired from my muscles tightening during."

"Normal." He answered sympathetically. He cast a quick spell and a scroll appeared in his hands. He examined it for a moment and then asked, "May I look briefly into your eyes to check your pupils?" Hermione nodded and sat facing him more. He came closer and Hermione could smell lemon candy covering the sour undertone of an aging man and tried to ignore it. He brightened the tip of his wand and shone it in her eyes for a moment before backing away. "Good response. Perfectly normal. Any other symptoms? I'm seeing a high likelihood for depression. So of feelings of worthlessness, lack of motivation, trouble eating, anything like that?"

"Sometimes. I feel in control though."

He pressed his lips together in a frown."These are serious symptoms Miss Granger."

"I've been getting better." Hermione insisted.

He frowned deeper, "Honest question, do you preventative potions or would you rather continue deal with it on your own?"

"On my own for now." She answered without hesitation.

He clicked his tongue slightly. "I disapprove, but of course you can make your own decisions. Do not hesitate to ask for preventatives if you don't feel in control, I'll leave some with the elves just in case. They're only for the depressive side I'm afraid. The anxiety is tied in and they can only be fixed together for you. Now Mr. Malfoy." The mist allowed the Healer through and Hermione could not hear the rest of their conversation.

A moment later the healer dropped the screen. "Alright then. All done. Good morning to you both." He said with a small salute and turned to go to the floo connected fireplace.

The Healers robe was barely out of the door before Draco cleared his throat and said, "Well now. I've things which I'll need to attend to this morning, but I shall see you for lunch if you would like the company. Though I must insist on tea this afternoon to discuss history you will be wanting," Draco said awkwardly, and looking stiff when Hermione looked over at him.

Hermione nodded and escaped the suddenly and confusingly thick atmosphere _What in the world could the Healer have said so quickly to make D-Malfoy's mood have soured so fast?_ Hermione wondered as she climbed the stairs. She went to the library to continue reading about Horcruxes.

* * *

A/N: Uh... You know that part in The Dark Knight when the Joker meets with Harvey Dent and he takes off the mask and has that awkward, "Hai" moment? That's exactly how this feels. Yes indeed I am still alive. I'm as surprised as you are sometimes. You may have noticed I have mentioned me having depression and lemme tell you, it really really keeps you from doing things you love doing. So regardless of the mental health stuff, I wanted to get this chapter out because I finally finished it and I like it.

I don't have any idea when I will be posting the next one. I do have the story planned out, the problem has been trying to find the energy and motivation to work on it. I'm seriously hoping that I'll be able to get out one more chapter by the end of the year, since I feel like I'm coming out of the worst of this latest slide.

I hope you sorta kinda maybe like this story a little bit. I do.


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